


Malum Prohibitum

by Suzie_Shooter



Series: Midsomer Musketeers [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Courtroom Drama, Drinking, Established Relationship, Exes, M/M, Mention of addiction, Mild Peril, Prostitution, Sex Trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: Midsomer Musketeers 10: When Athos agrees to take on the client of an ex-boyfriend accused of murder, he finds himself embroiled in a case that could cost him everything he holds dear. Meanwhile Porthos gets dragged into investigating a possible sex-trafficking ring, mostly thanks to Marcheaux’s ongoing commitment to terrible life choices.
Relationships: Athos | Comte de la Fère/Porthos du Vallon
Series: Midsomer Musketeers [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/935982
Comments: 53
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> malum prohibitum - a Latin phrase used in law to refer to conduct that constitutes an unlawful act only by virtue of statute, as opposed to conduct that is evil in and of itself

The bar of the New Inn was a cosy place to be on a cold January evening, with a roaring log fire and comfortably battered leather armchairs. Athos and Porthos had taken possession of a couple and were relaxing after dinner, Athos reading a book and Porthos browsing through a paper that had been left on the neighbouring table.

"Some people don't half give gay men a bad name," Porthos grumbled. Athos glanced up enquiringly, and he flicked the paper. "Some bastard lawyer in the city strangled his boyfriend. Reckon it was a sex game gone wrong and he panicked and left him for dead. Doing him for murder. I hope he gets the maximum whack."

"Does it say who?" Athos asked, interest vaguely piqued at the mention of a city lawyer.

"Somebody Deveraux? Here, have a look." Porthos folded the paper over and passed it across. Athos took it and froze. The article was accompanied by a picture of a harassed looking man walking down the steps of a courthouse. "What?" Porthos prompted, noticing Athos' expression. "You don't know him, do you?"

"You could say that," Athos said faintly, sitting up slowly in his chair. "He's my ex."

"What?" 

"Long time ago, obviously," Athos muttered, skimming the article text quickly. "Jesus."

"Sounds like you had a lucky escape," Porthos said, then frowned. "Here, hang on, he must be what, twenty years older than you?"

"Twenty three," said Athos with a slight smile. 

“Predator even then, eh?”

Athos gave him a cold look. “Not in the slightest.”

“You were how old?”

Athos turned back to the paper. “No. You’d clearly rather make your mind up about him based on a tabloid article rather than anything I might have to say, so I’ll save my breath.”

Porthos sighed, begrudgingly conceding that Athos might have a point. He was also entirely capable of sulking for the rest of the evening and Porthos for once wasn’t in the mood for an argument. 

“Alright, I’m sorry. Tell me about him.”

Athos gave him a narrow look then accepted the olive branch with a matching sigh, dropping the paper and sitting back in his chair. 

“I was just out of law school. Met him at some do or other. He was one of the most celebrated barristers in the room, even then. Tall, suave, sophisticated.”

“Old.”

Athos gave a slight shrug. “Forties, then. And I was - ”

“Young and pretty?”

“Full of myself. Knew fuck all and thought I knew it all. But somehow I held his interest.”

Porthos snorted but Athos just smiled faintly, remembering. “I went home with him. I don’t think either of us ever thought it would be more than a one night stand.” Athos stared into the fire for a long moment, then shook himself. “We were together for two years.”

Porthos blinked. “That long?” Neither of them had ever really talked much about their previous partners. Athos’ fiance had been killed in an accident and Porthos had never pushed for details about her because he knew Athos was still upset by it, but while logically he knew there were men in Athos’ past he’d never given much thought to who they might have been.

“I used to go and watch him in court,” Athos said. “I learnt more from him than I ever did from a book. He took me to places, introduced me to things, people – I suppose you could say he cultured me.”

“Makes you sound like a right Eliza Doolittle.”

Athos gave a quiet laugh. “Perhaps. He mentored me. And when we parted, his final gift was an introduction to Benet and Shaw.”

“He got you the job there?”

Athos raised a reproving eyebrow. “He got me the interview. I got me the job.”

It was Porthos’ turn to laugh.

“We weren’t in love. It was just a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Athos said carefully. “He was always very clear about that. Not a sentimental man.”

“You did though,” Porthos said quietly, studying Athos’ profile. “Love him.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I might not know him, but I know you,” Porthos said softly. “You’re not that mercenary.”

"Of course I did,” Athos admitted after a reluctant pause. "I'd have done anything for him. And quite often did," he added with a sideways look at Porthos, who laughed.

"Don't tell me. I don't want to know. And I don’t care how clever you reckon the man is, he’s clearly an imbecile.”

“Why?”

Porthos reached across the gap between their chairs and took Athos’ hand. “Because he had you, and he let you go.”

Athos smiled at him. "At least they've given him bail, that's good."

"Good?" Porthos echoed indignantly. "What's good about it, he killed a man."

"I don't believe for a second he'd have done something like this," Athos said. "It doesn't sit right at all."

"Accidents happen," Porthos pointed out. "And he admits they were up to kinky shit." He stared at Athos curiously, but Athos was re-reading the article with a troubled expression. 

Athos finally dropped the paper again with a sigh. "It doesn't make any sense." 

“Senseless death rarely does,” Porthos pointed out morbidly. “It’s kind’ve implied in the name.”

Athos gave him an uncomfortable look, but he said nothing further and Porthos assumed he’d dropped the matter. Athos though found it was preying on his mind, and later that night when they were lying in bed he brought it up again.

"I've been thinking," Athos said, turning to look at Porthos where he was propped up next to him reading. "I want to go and see him."

"Deveraux?" Porthos asked, after a moment’s surprised pause while he tried to catch up with Athos’ thought processes. "Will they let you see him?"

"He's out on bail, I told you," Athos said. "I thought you read the article?"

"Only skimmed it. How will you find him? Probably holed up somewhere hiding from nosy journalists by now."

"I think I know where he’ll be if he’s not at home," Athos said. "He had a second house that he kept quiet about. Used it for - "

"Assignations?"

"If you like."

"Familiar with it are you?" Porthos jibed.

"Intimately," Athos shot back flatly, figuring that two could play at that game. 

Porthos sighed, and Athos shifted closer, sliding an arm round his waist and nuzzling his shoulder. "Does it bother you?" he murmured. "You must have known I'd had other lovers."

"Yeah. No. Not really. I don't know." Porthos kissed him. "Did you really do - stuff like that with him? Choking and stuff?"

"Sometimes." Athos half-smiled, as Porthos stared at him with an expression of semi-horrified fascination. "It's not so dramatic. Just makes everything that bit more intense. And for the record it went both ways. In case you were getting all protective over this image you seem to have of me as a sweet and innocent little graduate. I was twenty one when we met, and while I might have been a bit wet behind the ears nothing ever happened I wasn't fully up for trying."

Porthos snorted. "Bet the dead guy wishes he'd been a bit less adventurous."

Athos was quiet for a while. "That's one of the reasons I want to see Theo. I need to know what really happened."

"You think he'll tell you?"

"All I can do is ask."

Porthos gathered Athos into his arms and held him close. "Just be careful yeah?"

"I won't be in any danger."

"There's more than one way of getting hurt," Porthos said soberly. "Maybe it's better not to know?"

"You don't really believe that. Would you settle for not knowing?" 

"And what if it's not what you want to hear?" 

"Then I'll be surprised." Athos gave him a lopsided smile. "Not being funny, but if he had killed someone he'd have made a better job of covering it up. The man's got a mind like a steel trap, he could've made an unbelievable career-criminal. Just be grateful he picked the side of the angels."

"Thought you said he was a lawyer?"

"Ha ha. Very funny." Athos poked him in the ribs and Porthos wriggled away snickering. 

“When will you go?”

“Tomorrow. Might as well. Sooner the better.”

Porthos nodded reluctantly. He knew that once Athos was set on a course of action there was little that could dissuade him, and he wasn’t entirely sure where his own unease stemmed from. He hoped it wasn’t simply jealousy, would be disappointed in himself if it was, but had to admit the circumstances of the whole thing left a nasty taste in his mouth. Part of him secretly hoped that this Theo would confess to Athos it had been a sexual misadventure after all because at least that would put an end to it. His worry was Athos getting himself mixed up in something that shouldn’t have been his problem. 

Porthos sighed. He knew perfectly well Athos had a tendency to do exactly that. They both did, for that matter, although at least Porthos could mostly claim it was his job. 

“Big sigh?” Athos murmured enquiringly, from the depths of the blankets.

“Yeah.” Porthos turned off the light. “I’ve got this fiancee you see. Insists on involving himself in other people’s problems.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

“You wouldn’t believe.” 

They reached out for each other in the dark, and for a long while there was no more talking.

–

“What’s got into him?” Porthos stared in surprise at the door to the briefing room which DS Marcheaux had just stormed out of, slamming it behind him. Even by his standards the man had been in a foul mood all morning, but he’d never actually walked out of a meeting before. 

“Don’t look at me.” Elodie shrugged uncomfortably as several gazes came to rest on her as the person most likely to be subject to Marcheaux’s thought processes. “He’s probably just hung over.”

“Or he’s been dumped again,” DS D’Artagnan suggested, and a certain amount of sniggering rippled around the room. Marcheaux’s main problem was his tendency to boast about his conquests, except none of his girlfriends tended to last very long and everyone could tell by the point at which he stopped mentioning them that he’d broken up with another one. 

His latest had been a part-time model called Elise, but despite the speculation Elodie wasn’t sure if they were still seeing each other. After accidentally spending a drunken night together a couple of months previously she and Marcheaux had just about managed to keep their working relationship on an even keel, but it did mean he’d stopped talking to her about his love life quite so much. He’d panic-acquired Elise less than a week after the night in question, and Elodie had frankly been faintly relieved. 

Neither of them had ever mentioned what had happened, but in an odd sort of way Elodie felt there was actually more trust between them now than before. Which made the fact she really didn’t know what was the matter with him all the more concerning.

When the briefing was over Elodie picked up her coat and after a moment’s hesitation Marcheaux’s as well, and slipped out of the office. She suspected he’d be sulking in the unofficial smoking area round the side of the building, and sure enough he was sitting on the low wall, looking damp and cross in the January drizzle.

“Here.” She chucked his coat at him and sat down, carefully pulling the hem of her own coat down to avoid getting a wet arse. “Got a light?”

Marcheaux handed her his lighter, and she took it with a nod. “Thanks. Got a fag an’ all?”

That elicited an indignant snort of laughter. “Freeloader.”

“Brought you your coat didn’t I?”

He handed over the packet with a shrug, and they smoked in silence for a while.

“So you going to tell me what’s got up your arse?” Elodie asked after a while. 

Marcheaux glanced at her, then shook his head slowly. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated. “You’ll think I’m a dick.”

Elodie blinked, taken by surprise by the thought this might bother him. “Well if it helps, I already think you’re a dick. So no problem, right?”

He stubbed out his cigarette and rubbed his face. “I could lose my job.”

“The fuck have you done?”

He gave her a steady look. “Something I shouldn’t’ve, obviously.”

“You don’t normally get your knickers in a twist about behaving like a twat.”

He screwed up his lips in something approaching a smile. “I think someone might be in trouble,” he said finally. “In danger. Or – dead, even.”

“Who?” 

Marcheaux didn’t reply, and Elodie poked him exasperatedly in the leg. “Tell me.”

“I could – ” 

“Lose your job, yeah, you said. Except I can’t fire you can I? Look, just tell me,” she said more kindly. “Then we can figure out what to do. Don’t you trust me, or what?”

Marcheaux sighed. “Fine. But you asked, alright?” 

“Go on.” 

He looked away. “I went to a brothel.”

Elodie winced. She knew all too well that he’d been on a final warning as far as that sort of activity went. 

“What happened to Elise?”

He shot her a hooded glance. “Ditched me for a wanker who said he could get her a telly part. And if you tell anyone inside that, I’ll scrag you. Far as they know, I dumped her, alright?”

“Whatever.” 

“Yeah.” Marcheaux shook out another cigarette but didn’t light it. “So, I went to this place I knew in Brighton. Hadn’t been there for years. Used to be – cheerful kind’ve place, you know? Local girls that didn’t take any shit. Knew what you were getting.”

“Put that on Tripadvisor, did you?”

He raised a smile, still fidgeting with the cigarette. “Anyway, it had changed. Used to be there’d be girls hanging about on the doorstep, smoking, touting, you know.” 

“Wow, sounds romantic.”

He gave her the finger. “This time there were bouncers on the door. Couple of bruisers in suits and buzzcuts.”

“Still let you in though.”

Elodie’s jibe passed unremarked, other than a troubled nod. 

“Inside it was – muted. None of the girls I remembered, and a different woman in charge. Face on her like a Bond villain. And more security goons.”

“It’s not sounding exactly sexy,” Elodie remarked. “You must have really wanted a shag.”

Marcheaux scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “You wanted to hear it.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Go on.”

“So I – ” he hesitated. “Went upstairs with one of them. Lacey. And – you know.” 

“I think I can fill in the blanks, yeah.”

“Anyway. I dunno. I tried talking to her. Afterwards, like.” He shot a wary glance at Elodie, waiting for her to take the piss, but she just nodded at him to continue, sensing that he was getting to the point.

“Her English wasn’t great. I guess she was Eastern European of some sort. Not chatty, anyway. Or happy, especially.” Marcheaux frowned, trying to think how to explain the impression he’d got. 

He’d been with a number of prostitutes over the years, had always had a weakness for the combination of transgressive thrill and uncomplicated sex. There’d been those doing it through financial necessity, and a rarer few with a genuine enthusiasm for it, but they’d all had a certain sense of the saleswoman about them. A pretence of pleasure, perhaps. He’d never deluded himself they were genuinely into him, but empty compliments were still enjoyable. 

Lacey though – and he didn’t suppose for a minute that was her real name – Lacey had been quiet to the point of muteness, and his attempts to draw her out had resulted in agitation. 

“I don’t think she wanted to be there,” he said quietly.

“Well I don’t imagine it’s something you’d do if you had any other options?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I mean – all that muscle downstairs. I don’t think it was to keep trouble out.” Marcheaux looked at her unhappily. “I think it was to keep the girls in.”

“You think they were there against their will?”

“Yeah. I should’ve cottoned on that something felt off before,” Marcheaux admitted uncomfortably. “Before I – ”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He threw down his cigarette unfinished and ground it angrily underfoot. 

–

“Do you not want to be here?” He’d asked it almost in irritation, his attempts at conversation having elicited monosyllabic responses and his conscience starting to prickle in a most unfamiliar way. Her response had been simply to stare at him, wide-eyed, followed by the minutest shake of the head.

He’d stared back at her, thrown and suddenly wildly uncomfortable. “You could go home?”

Another one of those tiny, terrified head shakes. “I cannot.”

“Are they keeping you here?” Mounting indignance, more that he should have been made to feel bad about something than actual concern for her, but suddenly entirely willing to march her downstairs and out the door if that was what she wanted. 

“No. No, I should not have said – you must go. Go now please.” Sudden fear on her face, casting looks at the door as if they might be overheard. 

“Lacey – if you want to leave, they can’t stop you. Look, I can get you out. Come with me. I can help you.”

“No. You must go.”

“Look, it’s alright. I’m a policeman.”

Fear had turned to abject terror at that point, and she’d physically pushed him towards the door. 

“No – no, you’re not in trouble,” he’d objected, fending off her small frantic hands. “I can help?”

“You cannot. Please. Go now?”

He’d handed her his card. It was all he could think of to do. “Look, if you change your mind? If you need help? Call this number. I can help you. I promise.”

–

“I never took you for a white knight.” Elodie finished her own cigarette and threw the butt down to join its friends in the gutter.

“All heart me,” Marcheaux said bitterly. 

“Did she call?” 

He shook his head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about her. So I went back. Two days later, I went back.”

Elodie stared at him, startled. “When was this?”

“Yesterday.”

“Did you see her?”

“She wasn’t there. I asked for her by name, but they said she’d left. Gone home.”

“She might’ve.”

“Yeah, right.” 

“Alright.” Elodie stretched. “Then we take it to the DI. Make a formal report. Get the place investigated.”

“I can’t.” Marcheaux sounded almost pleading. “He’d love an excuse to get rid of me. I tell him this I’d be playing right into his hands.”

“Look, I know you got a rap on the knuckles for that Owlbrook thing, but – ” she broke off because he was shaking his head.

“There’s more. Stuff you don’t know.” He stared over the grass to the road beyond, avoiding her eye. “Something I did.”

“Then tell me.” He stayed silent, and Elodie wondered what the hell was so bad and yet not bad enough to have already got him fired. She wondered fleetingly if there’d been another drunken night somewhere with someone who’d taken it less in their stride than she had. 

"I know the uniform girls call you Fortnight George."

Marcheaux opened his mouth then closed it again, looking confused. "Why?"

"Because you never text back after a fortnight. I've still got friends on the beat. Girls talk. Certainly seen more pictures of your dick than I ever wanted to."

Marcheaux looked startled. "You tell them about us?" he asked after a moment. It was the first time either of them had ever directly referred to it since it happened.

"No. Guess I wanted them to think I was better than that."

Marcheaux let that one go, recognising the need for an ally. "What I did. It's worse than a bit of bed-hopping."

"Tell me."

"I was seconded to the Met. Back before you were promoted to CID. When I came back, I made out it was my choice."

"Yeah, to be fair I don't think anyone bought that."

"But do you know why?"

Elodie shook her head.

"Du Vallon does. And that little git d'Artagnan. Thought it might be all round the office."

"No. What did you do?"

Marcheaux looked away. "I got bounced for taking - offers."

"Bribes?"

"Sex. As in - hello miss I'm afraid I'm going to have to run you in for soliciting. Unless..."

"Unless you'd like to make me an offer," Elodie supplied, looking disgusted. "Jesus. You really are a shit."

"Nobody got hurt," Marcheaux grumbled. "It was nothing they wouldn't have been doing anyway."

"No." Elodie pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. Against all odds I don't actually hate you right now, but if you start trying to justify it I might just change my mind."

Marcheaux shrugged, grumpy and defensive. "So you going to help me or what?"

Elodie let out a heavy sigh. "Where was this girl again?"

"Brighton."

"So off our patch. At least you had the sense not to shit in your own nest. Alright then, why don't you just have a word with Brighton nick? Say you've had a tip off, get them to raid it." 

Marcheaux was silent for a moment. "Trouble with that is, they go in and close it down, it doesn't solve the problem. The ones in charge, they'll just set up somewhere else. And it doesn't help Lacey."

Elodie stared at him. "You think you can save her," she said incredulously. "What, you reckon you're going to ride in and rescue her and she'll fall into your arms with gratitude or something?"

"You're a nasty little bitch, you know that?"

"Sorry, you were asking for my help weren't you?" Elodie shot back, and he groaned. "Can't believe I ever slept with you," she added in an undertone.

"Yeah well it weren't exactly a treat for me, waking up next to that," Marcheaux retorted. 

For a second they sat in silence, Marcheaux seething, Elodie blinking back angry tears.

After a cold, tense few seconds had ticked past, Marcheaux stuck yet another cigarette in his mouth and silently offered the packet to Elodie. She stared at it for a long moment, mentally running through all the possible responses, then sighed, and took one.

The tension palpably thawed.

"If you want this investigated properly, you're going to have to tell Porthos," Elodie said finally. "There's no other option."

Marcheaux winced. "He'll bury me."

"Your choice. Or you can walk away and never say anything to anyone."

"You won't say anything?" he asked, half-surprised.

"Oh no. This isn't on me, and I'm not taking it. This is between you and whatever passes for a conscience in there."

Marcheaux smoked his cigarette down to the filter and threw it on the ground. "Will you come in with me? He might be less likely to put my face through a window if you're there."

Elodie gave him a thin smile. "Yeah. Alright. Come on."

–

Athos walked down the centre of the mews and knocked on a smartly painted blue door. For a moment he thought perhaps no one would answer and wondered if the place was even still in his friend's possession, but then it opened and a man looked out at him with an air of caution that turned into open surprise.

"Athos?"

Athos half-smiled. "Hello Theo."

"Good God. I didn't expect - here, come in, quickly." He broke off, looking warily up and down the street as if they might be observed, which for all Athos knew might be the case.

He followed him inside, looking around with interest and experiencing a strange wave of familiarity. He'd spent a lot of time here once, and although some of the furnishings were different it was still like stepping into a memory.

Athos turned to look at Deveraux, comparing the man before him to the mental image in his head. He was older obviously, his hair greyer and his faced more lined, but he was still tall, slim and distinguished looking and was regarding Athos in turn with an equal curiosity.

"I heard about your spot of trouble," Athos said quietly, by way of explanation.

"Come to see if I did it?" Theo asked bluntly.

"Did you?" Athos held his gaze, and after a second Theo sighed.

"No. No I didn't. I was seeing the boy, I've never denied that, but he was alive when we parted, I swear."

Athos nodded slowly. "I didn't think it could be true. It didn't sit right." He paused. "I thought perhaps you could use a friend."

Theo looked as if he didn't know what to say, and Athos reflected he couldn't remember him ever being lost for words before. 

"I'm touched," he managed eventually. "There have been precious few people prepared to stand by me over the last few days." He managed a smile, his angular face softening as he relaxed a fraction. "Tea?"

"Why not." 

Athos followed him across into the kitchenette. The downstairs was all open plan with an open-tread wooden staircase spiralling up in one corner to the bedroom and en-suite above. Theo filled the kettle and took out a glass teapot and tea caddy, waving Athos to take a seat at the table.

Sitting down on the wooden bench, Athos was hit by a sudden sense memory. He remembered this table, remembered one night in particular, when he'd been bent over it, naked, while Theo - 

He cleared his throat, fingers running idly across the varnished surface. 

"Tell me what happened," Athos said, chasing out the memories with an effort of will. “With Santos.”

"Poor Javier. I hadn't been seeing him long. A few weeks. I spent the evening with him at his flat. I left just after midnight, he said he had to be at work early the next day." Theo paused, looking tired and haunted. "He never made it. They found him that afternoon." 

"Strangled."

"Yes." The kettle clicked off and Theo filled the teapot, bringing it across to the table with a couple of mugs. "I'm afraid I haven't got any milk."

"Black's fine." Athos had a sudden thought. "Do you need me to get you anything?" Wondering if Theo was hiding here from the press and didn't want to be seen.

"No, thank you, it's alright. I won’t be here long." The unspoken implication being that he might very shortly be in prison.

"Right." Athos studied him sympathetically, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes, and the way he cast restlessly about as if constantly looking for something. "Was he seeing anyone else?"

"Javier? Not that I was aware of. He was at liberty to, of course, but he never mentioned anyone. Besides, I don't think it's relevant."

"You don't? Surely - " 

"There was no evidence he had been intimate with anyone other than me," Theo said with dignity, although the faint flush rising on his cheeks hinted at what it cost him to be talking so baldly about such matters. "And the fact there was still evidence of _that_ , and that I admitted to our more unconventional practices seems to be providing the bulk of the evidence for the prosecution. It was unwise perhaps, but I thought I had no reason not to be open about it at the time."

"Accidents do happen," Athos said carefully.

Theo stared at him angrily. "If you think for a second my reaction to such an event would be anything other than to call an ambulance, you can get out right now."

"Just checking," Athos murmured, not moving. Theo subsided again, rubbing his eyes. 

"I won't claim I was in love, but I did care for him," he said. "This is all just hideous Athos. God, if I had done it of course I would have tried to save him, or failing that I would have turned myself in. Apart from anything else, I know perfectly well a ruling of death by misadventure would be easier to navigate than a murder charge."

"Either one would end your career."

"In which case if I was trying to get away with it wouldn't I have at least attempted to hide the body?" Theo demanded, looking irritated. "The most insulting thing about all this is the way it's painting me as a complete dunderhead."

"I'm not sure pointing out the ways you would have done it better is the best defence to lead with," said Athos, and after a second Theo cracked a reluctant smile. 

"No, perhaps not."

"Do you need a lawyer?"

Theo looked at him speculatively for several seconds before answering. "Are you offering?"

"If you need me, of course," Athos said surprised. "I'm still practising, but on a very minor scale these days. I might be a little rusty," he warned, and Theo nodded slowly.

"I had heard you'd dropped out of circulation. I was sorry to hear about your - illness."

"It was a breakdown," Athos said. "You can say it. I'm not precious."

"You always were very direct," Theo smiled. "It was one of the things I liked about you."

To his surprise Athos felt a blush creeping up his face, and was the first to look away. "Do you really need me? As a brief, I mean," he clarified hastily. 

Theo seemed to be considering something. "Athos. There is more to all this than you may at first suppose. The firm are covering my own defence requirements, it's in their own interests to do so, but there is someone else..."

Athos looked up. "Are you protecting someone?" he asked sharply.

"Not in the sense you mean. I don't know who killed Javier, and in a way I suspect it doesn't matter." He held up a hand to forestall Athos' protest. "I mean that in a technical sense, not an emotional one," he said. "I don't believe he was killed for the usual reasons - sex, money, revenge - in fact I don't believe his death had anything to do with him, if that makes sense."

"Not really." Athos frowned. "Hang on, are you suggesting you're being framed? That he was killed for the sole purpose of blaming it on you?"

"You think it fanciful, I can tell," said Theo dryly. "But you don't know the whole story. Athos, can I trust you? And when I ask that, I mean can I tell you something in such confidence that you swear not to tell another living soul? I'm not exaggerating when I say it could be a matter of life and death. Indeed, it may well already have been."

"Theo what the hell are you involved in?" Athos breathed. "Yes, alright, of course. You have my word."

"You promise? Not a word, no matter how much you trust someone. I realise I don't even know your personal circumstances any more. Are you with anyone?"

"I'm engaged, actually," Athos told him. "And he's a detective inspector. So he understands the need for confidentiality." 

"Oh. My congratulations." Theo raised his tea mug in brief salute. "Alright. I admit I was at a loss as to what to do about this, but I think your turning up here might be rather advantageous."

He took a moment to muster his thoughts, then sat back, regarding Athos seriously. 

"It concerns human trafficking. On an unprecedented scale. A person has come forward willing to give evidence that could take down a network that appears to have connections at the highest level. Their identity must remain a matter of the strictest confidence, and I am certain I am not exaggerating when I say their life could be in danger if their involvement became known." 

"You're representing this person?" 

"Yes." Theo tapped his fingers restlessly on the table. "Well, I was. Until all this." He gave Athos a meaningful look. 

"You're saying it's connected?" Athos asked, taken aback. "You think it's all a fit-up to take you off the case?" 

"I think when they couldn't identify the leak, they decided to take out the next best thing." 

"Why not just kill you then?" Athos asked, and Theo gave him a wry smile. 

"You don't get any less direct, do you? Why indeed. Perhaps Javier was easier to get to. Or perhaps they felt discrediting me, and by association my firm, would do more damage to the case. Anyway, somebody from outside taking over would, in the circumstances, be an excellent solution." 

It took a second for the penny to drop. "Me? You want me to take on the case?" 

"You did offer." 

Athos stared at him. "Wasn't quite what I had in mind, but - well." 

"Then you'll do it? I'd have to check that my contact would be willing to deal with you, but I believe they will be." 

"I - yes, I suppose so. If you think I'm capable." 

"Athos I've rarely met anyone more capable than you," Theo said with the closest thing he'd mustered to a genuine smile since Athos had arrived. 

"I'm not the man I was when you knew me," Athos warned quietly. 

"No. Quite. You're older. More experienced. And you've proven you can endure and survive the most testing experiences. I frankly can't think of anyone better to take this on." 

Athos raised an eyebrow. "If you're resorting to flattery it must be desperate," he smiled. 

"I've put a great deal of work into this. Apart from the human cost, it would be personally extremely galling to think it had all been for nothing." 

"More galling than being arrested for murder?" 

"Well, yes, regardless of the outcome I know I'm innocent of that," Theo said dismissively. "But you raise another interesting point. It may be possible to unearth the truth of that if this case is successful. Once the dominoes start toppling, all manner of people will start talking in return for a plea bargain." 

"Do you think your contact knows who might be responsible?" 

Theo sat up. "Athos, I'm asking you represent them, not start investigating yourself. For God's sake don't put yourself in harm's way, I've got one death on my conscience already." 

"You really believe it could be that dangerous?" Athos asked soberly. 

"It shouldn't be, as long as nobody discovers their identity until it comes to court. Hence the need for absolute secrecy. And no poking about in the other matter!" Theo added sternly. "Leave that to the police." 

"Are they even looking for anyone else?" Athos asked. 

"One hopes," Theo sighed. "One certainly hopes." 

–

Porthos sat back in his chair and regarded the two people sitting in front of him sternly. He was at something of a loss to know where to start. Theoretically, after Marcheaux’s previous behaviour and his status at work being on a final warning for pulling exactly this kind of shit, it warranted something along the lines of suspension and internal investigation. On the other hand, Porthos was conscious Marcheaux could have kept his mouth shut and said nothing, and that to meet this unexpected confession with punishment was both unfair and unlikely to instil future trust and co-operation. 

He decided to turn it back on them. “So what do you expect me to do about it? You must be aware it falls outside the jurisdiction of both this station and the East Sussex division as a whole. The appropriate thing would be to hand the whole thing over to Brighton, let them deal with it.”

“If they wade in and close the place down it doesn’t help Lacey,” Marcheaux objected stubbornly. “Besides, she’s not there any more, that’s the point. She might _be_ on our patch by now.”

“Do you have reasonable grounds for supposing that?”

“I don’t have any for assuming she’s not,” he countered.

Porthos sighed inwardly. “Alright. But I’ll have to tell them. If they object, we’ll have no choice.”

“Understood.” Marcheaux figured the chances of the already overstretched Brighton & Hove constabulary getting territorial over a low-profile missing sex-worker case were virtually nil. 

“You said the place used to be run by others,” Porthos mused. “Any chance of tracking them down? They might have something interesting to tell us about the new owners, especially if they feel they’ve been pushed out. And the girls there now – try and get one of the others to talk to you. See if your suspicions are actually based in anything other than a guilty conscience. If they say she’s simply gone home as well and don’t seem worried, we may be wasting our time.”

“Could be difficult getting one outside the place,” Marcheaux warned. “It didn’t look like they had a lot of freedom of movement.”

“Again, something to be checked,” Porthos said. “If it turns out the rest are hanging out for lunch in a cafe round the corner that tells us something in itself. And take Elodie with you. No lone interviews.”

Marcheaux smirked at her. “How do you feel about undercover work?”

She didn’t dignify that with a reply, just slowly raised her middle finger, which made him laugh. 

“Anything sensible to say for yourself, sergeant?” Porthos asked. “No excuses to offer?”

“It’s been forcibly pointed out to me that attempted justifications are bad,” said Marcheaux, with a sideways glance at Elodie. “I’m a beaten man, Inspector.”

Porthos shook his head. “Alright, get out. Not you,” he added, as Elodie got to her feet as well. “A word, constable.”

She exchanged a glance with Marcheaux then sat down again as he went out, wondering what was coming.

“How did you get mixed up in this?” Porthos asked.

“He told me. Outside, just now. I think he wanted to do the right thing, he just needed a nudge in the right direction.” Elodie hesitated. “He also told me – what he did to get sent back here from London.”

Porthos looked surprised. “Really?”

Elodie nodded. “I couldn’t understand why he was so afraid he’d get fired for what seemed like a fairly trivial misdemeanour. So I made him tell me.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Porthos asked curiously, still more than half suspecting that Marcheaux hadn’t actually told her the truth. Elodie looked indignant.

“Of course I’m not,” she blurted. “But a girl’s life could be in danger here. Isn’t that more important right now?”

“Absolutely.” Porthos nodded. “And it’s to your credit, I suspect, that we even know about her.”

Elodie shrugged. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“But he trusted you enough to tell you the truth. And trusted your judgement enough to value your opinion.”

Elodie looked surprised, as if this aspect of it hadn’t previously occurred to her. She glanced out at the office through the glazed wall, in time to catch Marcheaux look quickly away as he pretended he hadn’t been watching them. “Will he get into trouble over this sir?”

Porthos hesitated. “I shouldn’t be discussing that aspect of it with you at all constable,” he pointed out.

“No, I know. But he was clearly bricking it too much to ask himself.”

It was Porthos’ turn to look surprised. Marcheaux had struck him as surly and defensive, and not for the first time he reflected that Elodie had taken the time to get to know the man in a depth none of the rest of them had bothered to. He sighed.

“Tell him he’s on his final, final warning.”

Marcheaux, when she relayed the news, looked relieved, and rubbed his hands together. “Right then. Prossie treasure hunt it is.”

“You never fucking learn, do you?”

“Solemn search for sex-workers?” he offered, looking insincerely contrite, and she threw her pen at him.

–

Athos spent the train journey back to Crossley staring out of the window lost in thought. He was worried about Theo, intrigued by the case, and faintly anxious about telling Porthos that he'd taken it on, especially without knowing much about it. 

Porthos was waiting for him in the station car park, and it sparked another realisation. The trains up to London weren't especially reliable, and he had no idea when or where he might have to travel as part of the case. He'd been putting it off for months now, but he would finally have to start driving again himself. 

"Hey." He slid into the passenger seat and kissed Porthos on the cheek. 

"How was it?" Porthos asked neutrally. He'd half-hoped Athos wouldn't have managed to find the man, but the preoccupied look on his face suggested he had. 

"Complicated," Athos sighed, and gave him a tired smile of apology. "I'm not even sure how much I can tell you." 

"Swore you to secrecy did he?" Porthos asked darkly, pulling out of the space and heading for the exit. 

"As a matter of fact, yes," Athos said. "But not for the reasons you appear to be concocting. He didn't do it Porthos. He was set up." 

"That's what they all say." 

Athos frowned. He didn't want to fight over it, but was also disinclined to put up with Porthos' needling on top of a long and stressful day. "Aren't the police supposed to keep an open mind? Innocent until proven guilty and all that?" 

"If they've charged him they must think they have enough to convict, they wouldn't bother else," Porthos pointed out. "Unless some shifty lawyer gets him off." He screeched to a halt at a junction and shot Athos a suspicious look. "Tell me you haven't?" 

"Not exactly," Athos muttered. "Look, you're holding people up, stop driving like an arse." 

Porthos growled at him, but he took the turning and carried on towards Owlbrook. 

"What do you mean, not exactly?" 

"He has counsel for the murder charge, the firm are taking care of that. What he needed was for someone to take on one of his clients." 

"Why?" Porthos shot him a confused look. "Won't the other partners just share out his caseload?" 

"Mostly, yes. To be honest I don't fully understand it myself yet, but there seems to be complications. He liked the idea of this one being handled by someone unconnected with him or the firm, so there could be no suggestion of - guilt by association, I suppose." 

Porthos was mostly silent for the rest of the journey home, but Athos could tell he was brooding on it, and wasn’t surprised when Porthos brought it up again later that night.

“Look,” Porthos said, when they were clearing away after supper, Athos washing up and Porthos drying. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you sure you’re up to it?”

Athos gave him a sideways look. “I assume we’re not talking about my ability with a dishcloth here? But do feel free to take over.”

“Great, so you’re just going to avoid the question then?”

Athos sighed, twitching the tea-towel out of Porthos’ hands to dry his own. “I’m fine. Mostly. I know you’d prefer to keep me wrapped in cotton wool, but how do I know what I’m capable of until I try?”

“That you talking, or Deveraux? And anyway, what’s your boss going to think if you’re gallivanting off working for a different firm?”

“I wouldn’t be, it would be done through ours. That’s the point. And I’m reasonably sure he won’t mind, we’re quiet at the moment, and it’d be a huge accolade for the firm in general.”

“Assuming you win,” Porthos jibed, and Athos snorted. 

“Either way, to be honest. Not many local solicitors get to represent people in the high court.”

“You’d be up and down to London a lot. Getting a new career as a taxi driver am I?”

“No, I’d have to start driving again,” Athos said quietly, and Porthos looked startled. “It’s time I did, anyway,” Athos continued. “I’m off the pills, it’ll be fine.”

“You haven’t got a car.”

“I’ll get one. I’ve still got the insurance money from the one that got totalled.”

“Well you’ve clearly made your mind up haven’t you,” Porthos said bitterly, and Athos frowned.

“Porthos what’s wrong? I’m taking on a case to help out an old friend, that’s all. Alright, the circumstances are a bit odd, but it’s no different from what I do day to day?”

Porthos shrugged unhappily, and Athos closed the distance between them, taking Porthos’ hands in his. 

“Talk to me,” he murmured. “What’s really bothering you?”

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you,” Porthos finally admitted in an undertone and Athos stared at him, taken aback.

“Porthos – ” he tailed off helplessly. “Theo and I were over a long time ago. Hell, I’ve been engaged to somebody else since then. You don’t really think – ?” Athos broke off again because Porthos was shaking his head.

“No. No, it’s not that, of course it’s not that.”

“Then what?” Athos asked, more confused than ever.

“It’s just – I suppose I’m scared you’ll realise what you’ve been missing. Get a taste of your old life and want it back. Bright lights, big city, you know?” Porthos muttered wretchedly. 

Athos relaxed. “Porthos.” He shook Porthos’ hands gently until he looked up. “I’ve made my choice,” he said firmly. “My life is here now. With you. I don’t want anything else. I remember perfectly well what it was like before, and I’m infinitely happier now than I ever was in London. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Porthos stared back at him with a look of fragile hope. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I mean it you twat. I love you.”

Porthos gave a shaky laugh, and Athos pulled him into his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” Porthos breathed, holding him fiercely tight. “I think it’s just nerves. What with the wedding coming up my head’s started reminding me I’ve lost everyone that’s ever been important to me, and it’s making me scared something bad will happen.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Athos assured him. “Besides, I think Aramis has already used up the world’s stock of pre-wedding drama, don’t you?”

That made Porthos laugh, and he finally pulled back. “Promise me you’re not going to get yourself kidnapped?”

“I promise.” Athos grinned. “What do you say we skip the rest of the washing up and go to bed?”

“It’s only nine o’clock,” Porthos protested, then caught on. “Oh, right. I see. Well, I could be persuaded.” 

–

Afterwards, lying twined together warm and contented, Porthos plucked up the courage to voice something else that had been bothering him.

“Is this enough for you?”

“What?” Athos blinked up at him sleepily.

“Well, I mean – you’d tell me if there was anything else you wanted to do right? In bed I mean.” Porthos gave him an embarrassed smile. “I know I’m not exactly the most adventurous guy in the sack.”

Athos gave a slight groan. “This is about Theo isn’t it.”

“It’s just – if you were into like, kinky shit with him – I’m just saying, if there was anything – I wouldn’t want you to get bored,” Porthos gabbled increasingly desperately, until Athos sat up and placed a finger on Porthos’ lips.

“For the record, I am not bored, nor am I ever likely to be. You are more than enough for me Porthos Du Vallon, and I am entirely satisfied.” Athos replaced the finger with his own mouth, and kissed him with a comprehensive firmness that he hoped went some way towards proving his point.

–

Two days later Athos was back in London, once more seated at Theo’s kitchen table.

“Well, I’ve spoken to our witness, and as I thought, he’s agreed for you to represent him,” Theo said with an air of relief. 

“It is a he then?” Athos asked. “You were very carefully not saying before. I thought perhaps it was one of the victims.”

“Security of his identity is paramount,” Theo said. “The entire case hinges on his testimony. The police are closing in on a number of very important people as a result of what he’s told us thus far, and if he was for any reason unable to take the stand, the whole thing would collapse. The man involved – is involved,” he said with a passing look of distaste. 

“You mean in the trafficking,” Athos clarified.

“Yes. He came forward looking for representation. I feel it was all getting a bit hot for him, and he decided one way to secure his own safety would be to sell out everyone else.” Theo gave Athos a thin smile. “Sometimes one must deal with the devil for the greater good, it appears.”

“Quite. He’s happy for me to take over?”

“Oh yes. I had a feeling he would be, I seemed to remember you’d actually had dealings with him before.”

“I had?” Athos looked puzzled. “Who is it?”

“A man called Emile Bonnaire.”

–


	2. Chapter 2

Athos froze. He stared fixedly at Theo as if he might have somehow misheard the name, but deep down knew there was no mistake. It made an awful kind of sense, in the context. 

"Athos? What is it?" Theo asked, seeing his ashen expression. 

"I can't," Athos said faintly. "I can't do it. I'm sorry. If it had been anyone but him..."

"You were happy enough to do it two minutes ago. What's the problem? I thought you'd worked with him before?"

"I have." Athos sank into a chair, feeling winded. "I successfully defended him a few years ago." 

"That's what I thought. He certainly seemed very positive when I mentioned your name." Theo frowned. "Athos, you're the only person who can do this, the police want it distanced from my firm after the allegations against me and he was very reluctant to trust anyone else."

Athos rubbed his hands over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The original case against him was put together by the man who is now my fiancee," he explained awkwardly. 

Theo looked surprised. "Well it's an unusual way of meeting someone, but I suppose whatever works."

"No, we never actually met at the time. I got the case dismissed before it ever got off the ground. We met some years later, and only realised some time after we'd started dating." Athos shook his head, remembering with a sick lurch the fight that had ensued. "It nearly broke us. I can't go home and tell him I'm representing the man again, I just can't."

"Well don't tell him then," Theo said baldly. "In fact, I strongly recommend you don't in any case. I'm not for a minute casting aspersions on your man, but we have reason to believe there's at least one senior police officer involved in covering this up. A wrong word in the wrong ear and the whole jig could be up." 

"Theo, I'm sorry - "

"If you don't do this, nobody else will," Theo interrupted. "All the work will have been for nothing. You have the opportunity here to make a real difference, to save lives. Surely this chap of yours would want that? And not to put too fine a point on it, if none of this ever comes to court, I'm sunk Athos. If there's no proof of a wider conspiracy they'll surely convict me of Javier's murder."

Athos gave him a heavy look. "Two minutes ago I'd have said emotional blackmail was beneath you."

"Two minutes ago I'd have said you had a spine." 

Athos was halfway to his feet when Theo held up an apologetic hand. "I'm sorry. I take that back, I didn't mean it, of course I didn't. This has just all been a bit of a strain." 

"Are you alright?" Athos took his seat again, softening his tone. 

"I'll survive," Theo said with a grim smile. "But there are others who won't, if this case collapses."

Athos put his head in his hands, trying to think things through. "Presumably Bonnaire is on some kind of plea bargain?"

"Not only that. In return for his evidence, he gets a whole new identity."

"No jail time at all?" Athos asked, sounding pained.

"It was felt too high a risk. In prison he'd be too easily got at. Once he tells what he knows there will be a lot of important people only too keen to see him dead."

"So that's the price. After everything he's done he gets away scot-free."

"I'm afraid so. I did say it was a deal with the devil," Theo said apologetically. 

Athos nodded heavily. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"You'll do it?"

"Yes." Athos sat up, set his shoulders. "I have to believe the end result is what Porthos would want. To save lives, rather than sacrifice them to a grudge." He sighed. "I just hope he forgives me."

–

“Well this was a bust.” Elodie blew moodily on her coffee, sipped it and winced.

Across the scarred formica table Marcheaux was stirring an unhealthy amount of sugar packets into his own, in an attempt to improve or possibly just disguise the taste. Rain spattered on the window as the last of the light faded from the sky and the streetlights flickered on. 

They’d spent a fruitless two days trying to speak to one of the other girls from the brothel but other than the woman who seemed to be in charge and the granite faced bouncers nobody else seemed to come out.

“If nothing else this pretty much proves you were right though,” Elodie said. “They’re being kept in there. One of them would have come out by now.”

“I could go in,” Marcheaux suggested, although without much enthusiasm. “Pose as a john.”

“Let’s try the other option first. Previous occupants.”

“Alright. I’ll make some enquiries.”

“Friends in low places?”

Marcheaux ignored the dig. “I think I can find out where they’ve gone.” 

–

Porthos arrived home that night to find a car already parked in the drive and experienced a moment of disorientation, as it was identical to Athos' previous car that had been written off in an accident some time previously. Having parked his own up on the verge further along and walked back to the house he noted it had a different numberplate, but it was still an odd feeling.

He let himself in and found Athos hard at work at the kitchen table. 

"That your Merc out there?"

"Yes. I figured familiarity would be the most important thing, help me concentrate."

Porthos frowned, concern warring with the awkward knowledge he shouldn’t try and coddle him. "You sure you're up to this?"

"I'll be fine. And the good news is I won't have to drive up to London all the time, I've arranged to meet the client closer to home."

"Well that's good."

"I should even be home in time for dinner," Athos said with forced levity.

"More importantly, will you be home in time to _make_ dinner?" Porthos grinned. He nodded at the laptop. "How's it going so far?" 

Athos closed the lid and gave Porthos a pained smile. "Honestly? Already regretting my life choices."

"That bad huh?" Porthos gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as he passed. "Is there really nobody else who can do this?"

"Apparently not." Athos looked up at him with troubled eyes as Porthos went to fill the kettle. "I love you."

Porthos looked round, surprised. "I love you too." He frowned. "Christ, is it getting to you that much already? Tell 'em to get lost."

"I can't." Athos sighed. "It's too late for that."

"Can you talk about it?"

"No. Sorry." 

Porthos nodded philosophically enough at that, and turned back to his tea making. "You want a cup?"

"No, thanks. I’ve, er, got a whisky," Athos admitted.

"I'll let you get on. Tell me if there's anything I can do to help. Try not to let it get to you too much. Whatever it is, it's not worth your health."

Athos stared unhappily at the closed door once Porthos had gone out again. "I hope that's not all it costs me," he whispered. 

He knew telling Porthos the whole story was logically the most sensible thing to do, at least as far as protecting his relationship went. But he also remembered how Porthos had reacted before, and the risk, however small of a repeat of that could mean the difference between life and death not only for Bonnaire but of all the victims they were working to protect. 

With a guilty feeling settling like a stone in his stomach, Athos opened the laptop again and changed the password to one Porthos didn't know.

–

In the morning Athos got behind the wheel of his new car and buckled in. He’d let Porthos think he’d driven it here from the garage the day before, when in fact it had been delivered. He’d had a brief test drive with the salesman but hadn’t driven it alone yet.

“You can do this,” he told himself firmly. “It’s not like it’s going to be the hardest thing you have to do today.”

Trying not to hold the wheel with too much of a death grip he took a deep breath and pulled out of the drive. By the time he got to the main road he was sweating but the journey was thankfully uneventful and by the time he pulled into the car park of a hotel on the Brighton promenade, it was with a sense of achievement. He turned the engine off and sagged with relief. Another hurdle navigated.

Bonnaire had been happy enough to meet outside of London and Athos had hired a small seminar room in one of the hotels set up for corporate events. They would be unremarkable amongst any number of anonymous conference and away-day attendees. He’d left in enough time to get there before Bonnaire, time to suss out the facilities and familiarise himself with the layout. He needed the upper hand, and forewarned was forearmed.

His heartrate was just about back to normal by the time the door opened and Emile Bonnaire walked in. Athos’ stomach churned uncomfortably, but his face was impassive as he got to his feet. 

“Bonnaire.”

"Athos. Good to see see you again."

"Wish I could say the same."

"I'm hurt."

"Oh, I doubt that."

"Very well, confused then," said Bonnaire curiously. "I understood you'd agreed to take my case?"

"That was before I knew it was you."

"Not like you to have such scruples," said Bonnaire and Athos frowned.

"I represented you, briefly. You don't know me, and we are not friends," he said coldly.

"As you wish." Bonnaire shrugged and helped himself to coffee. "How do you want to do this?"

"Theo's briefed me as far as he can, and I have the case files but I think it's best if you run me through it all from the top."

"Is that really necessary?"

"I think so. I need to hear it in your own words."

Bonnaire settled into a chair, straightening his expensive trousers and considering his words. "Well, as you know, I’ve dabbled in the import-export business for a while."

"People smuggling," said Athos flatly. 

"Well, I was never convicted of that little accusation. Thanks to you."

"You also technically weren't found innocent," Athos pointed out. "I exploited a loophole that only existed because someone fucked up procedure on your arrest, that was all."

"Still. Case dismissed. No stain on my character."

"Until now, when you testify in open court what you've been up to."

Bonnaire looked alarmed. "Now steady on. I'm giving evidence against people, not incriminating myself."

"You already have your deal. You only know what people were doing because of your involvement," Athos said flatly. "If you lie in court and get caught perjuring yourself, your testimony will be worthless and the whole case will collapse. And," he added pointedly, "I don't imagine in such an event the CPS would be terribly interested in following through on any new identities they might have lined up for you." Athos gave him a bland smile. "No, you're going to stand up in court and admit to every last sordid little thing you've been up to."

Bonnaire glared at him. "I'd almost forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

"How much of a bastard you could be." He shrugged lightly, re-settling himself in the chair. "Almost a relief. For a moment there I thought you'd lost your edge."

“If you’d prefer someone else to represent you, do feel free to say now,” Athos said, rather hoping his unenthusiastic greeting had put the man off. But Bonnaire just laughed.

“No. I know what you can do, I’m happy enough. When Deveraux had his little spot of bother I thought I was sunk, but then you came along. I’m a lucky man.” He toasted Athos ironically with his coffee cup.

"I was meaning to ask you about that. Deveraux's arrest, I mean."

Bonnaire looked surprised. "What would I know about it? Man got a bit too frisky with lover-boy from what I heard."

"He claims he was set up," Athos said, and Bonnaire gave a short laugh.

"Well he would, wouldn't he!" 

"He thinks it was the people we're hoping to put away. Trying to derail the case."

Bonnaire went from looking derisive to briefly alarmed, then clearly discounted the idea. "No way. If they had a sniff something was up they'd be a lot more jumpy."

"It might not be those you're directly involved with," Athos persisted. "It could come from higher up."

"Trust me, if they had an inkling anything was afoot, let alone enough of an idea to identify the lawyer involved? I'd already be dead," Bonnaire said flatly. 

Athos dropped the matter, feeling uncomfortable. 

–

It was a long hard day going over Bonnaire’s testimony, deciding what to present and what to hold back, and it left Athos feeling somehow soiled. As soon as he got home he poured a drink and took a long hot shower, and by the time Porthos appeared he was feeling marginally more human. 

"How did it go today?" Porthos asked, kissing him hello.

"You know I can't tell you anything."

"I meant the driving," Porthos said placatingly and Athos blinked. 

"Oh. Yes, fine."

"Really? You look tense."

"Not because of the car. That was fine in the end, actually. No problem."

"Then what?"

"Nothing." Athos caught himself and sighed. "Everything. I don't know."

"You do what you have to. Just - don't do what you don't have to," Porthos said, pulling him in for another kiss. "Something smells good."

"Shepherd's pie."

"Made with your own fair hands?" Porthos asked, lifting the hands in question up to kiss the knuckles.

"Paid for by them, does that count?"

"Close enough."

–

They’d demolished the pie and were still sitting at the table trying to work up the enthusiasm for the washing up when Athos finally broached at least one of the things that had been nagging at him.

"Do you ever think you might be wrong about someone?"

Porthos looked at him. "Deveraux?" he guessed.

Athos nodded, staring into his glass. "I was so sure he must be innocent. And now - I don't know any more."

"People change," Porthos offered. "Are you the same person you were when he knew you?"

"No," Athos admitted. "I suppose not, not entirely."

"On the other hand, there's nothing more corrosive than self-doubt." Porthos reached over and took his hand. "Trust your instincts. I've never known you be wrong when it counted."

Athos smiled, then looked back up. "Hang on. Are you saying I'm wrong at other times?"

"Oh God yeah, all the time," Porthos grinned, and laughed as Athos smacked him. 

–

On Sunday morning Athos woke early. It was still dark and he listened to the rain beating against the window and winced, hoping the house next door – their actual home – was suitably waterproofed. It had suffered extensive structural damage in a storm, and with Christmas getting in the way of repairs the roof was still half-covered with tarpaulin. Renting the house next door had been convenient but there were times when Athos thought he’d worry less if he couldn’t actually see and hear what was going on.

In the end he got up and went downstairs, trawling through all the notes again, trying to get a feel for the way the case would go. Those accused would bring all manner of protection with them. It wouldn’t be straightforward. From what he could tell the evidence itself was on the light side and a lot would hang on Bonnaire’s testimony. That made him nervous and he needed to know the thing inside and out to deal with whatever the defence threw at him. No surprises, that was key.

He was still there hours later when Porthos came down. He shook his head at the offer of breakfast, then looked up in surprise when a mug of coffee got set in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Got to keep you fuelled.” Porthos dropped a kiss onto the top of his head and left him in peace. He understood well enough the urge to get buried in a case, to spend hours poring over the facts to the exclusion of everything else. He just hoped Athos was in a strong enough place to cope with something of this magnitude, and that he didn’t let it get to him. 

It made it worse that there was a personal element to it. Porthos had been over the publicly available facts of the Deveraux case and was still privately of the opinion it had simply been an accident, and the man had panicked and run. The simplest explanation was far more likely than a murderous conspiracy. On the other hand – Athos had been right before when no one had believed him.

Porthos sighed. As far as he knew what Athos was working on wasn’t actually connected with the murder trial at all, although he knew from experience that wouldn’t necessarily stop the man involving himself. In the meantime all Porthos could do was offer his support, as and when Athos decided he needed it. Although that wouldn’t stop him worrying.

–

“Why don’t we go out for a bit?” Porthos suggested hopefully, coming back into the kitchen a couple of hours later and finding Athos still at work. “The rain’s stopped. We should take advantage.” 

Athos looked up, conflicted. “I should really keep going through the casenotes. I’ve got a lot to memorise.”

“It’s Sunday. An hour off won’t hurt. Bit of fresh air would do you good. We don’t have to go far?” Porthos coaxed. “We could just walk round the village or up to the woods or something?”

Athos relented, feeling doubly guilty. On top of the constant nagging worry of what he was keeping from Porthos was the knowledge that he’d become distant and withdrawn because of it, avoiding conversation and time together. 

They put on outdoor boots and coats and made their way up the lane past the church. Once inside the woods Porthos moved closer, his fingers brushing Athos’ hand before tentatively taking hold of it. Athos realised that Porthos, unsure of the reason for his distant mood, had been prepared for him to pull away and felt guilty all over again. He clasped Porthos’ hand firmly and received a smile in return that had more than a touch of relief about it. 

The paths were wet after the rain overnight but a pale sun was breaking through and the bare branches let in plenty of light. As they wandered the paths with no real destination in mind Athos began to feel better, his mood lifting for the first time in days.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Porthos looked round at him. “What for?”

Athos just shrugged, and Porthos squeezed his hand. “This job’s getting to you, isn’t it?”

“It’s not quite what I expected,” Athos admitted.

“Can you bail?” Porthos asked, knowing full well Athos was unlikely to let down anyone he’d committed to helping, but feeling compelled to make the suggestion anyway. 

“No.” Athos sighed. 

“Oh well. It’ll all be over soon, right?” Porthos said.

Athos nodded mutely. He knew Porthos meant it comfortingly, that the court proceedings were theoretically planned for February, but the words sent a chill through him. There was too much risk of other things being over if and when Porthos found out who he was working for.

Oblivious to Athos’ internal quandary and encouraged by the fact he’d agreed to come out at all, Porthos decided to push his luck. 

“Tell you what, do you fancy a roast? Let’s go down to the pub.”

“I should really - ”

“Get a decent meal inside you,” Porthos interrupted. “Or do you think I haven’t noticed you chicken-pecking at your plate lately?”

“Yes mother.” 

Porthos grinned, having been prepared for a bigger argument. “Come on.” 

–

Detective Inspector Cara Sinclair of the Metropolitan Police was a solidly built woman with a no-nonsense haircut and a handshake to match. 

“I’ve heard of you,” she said when Athos arrived at her office on Monday morning, managing to sound remarkably unenthusiastic about the fact. 

“All bad, one assumes?” Athos smiled. Although he was representing Bonnaire, the main body of the case had been put together by the woman in front of him and he had no wish to start off on the wrong foot.

“Bane of some of my CPS colleagues’ lives, so I’m given to understand.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Are we expected to be duly grateful that you’re working for the prosecution on this one?”

“Not at all.”

“Why exactly have you taken this case? Looking to rekindle past glories?”

Athos wondered why his reception had been quite so hostile. Simply badmouthing from a colleague, as she’d intimated? Or something deeper? Maybe she was just protective of her case and was worried he was going to screw it up. 

“Not at all. A friend asked me to help out, that’s all.”

“Deveraux.”

Was that it? Was he somehow being tarred with the same brush?

“Yes.”

“You’ve worked for our Emile before I understand.”

“Yes.” 

Sinclair frowned. “Don’t say much, do you?”

“Not when I get the distinct impression anything I say might be used in evidence,” Athos murmured. 

She gave him a hard look, then relented with a tired laugh. “Sorry. I just have to be sure, you see.”

“That I’m up to it?”

“That we can trust you.”

Athos nodded slowly. “You can. I’m not sure how I’d go about proving it.” 

She spread her hands expansively. “Win the case for us, I suppose. You know now who the accused are? You understand the stakes?”

Athos nodded. All men, the suspects comprised Timmins, a magistrate, Skerrit, an investment banker, Franks, a freight company owner and Mathers, who was of most interest to everyone being as he was the chief superintendent of the East Sussex police division. This also happened to be the division that Crossley fell under, and Athos had had to resist the temptation to sound out Porthos about what the man was like.

“There are any number of accomplices that we’re also hoping to mop up,” Sinclair explained. “But those four men are the ringleaders, the organising force behind it all.”

“They certainly seem to have every aspect covered,” Athos commented. “Funding, transport, protection from the law.”

“And Timmins’ day job is for the coastguard,” Sinclair added. “We understand from Bonnaire that some girls were brought in by boat, others by rail.”

“And it was Bonnaire’s job to procure them in the first place?” Athos clarified. “On the continent?”

“Yes. Offering them promises of a new life.”

“Ironic really, given that that’s what he’s now being offered himself,” said Athos.

“You disapprove?” Sinclair asked, hearing the note of coldness in his voice.

“After everything he’s done, to face no consequences for it seems rather unfair.”

“He’s offering to make amends. That has to count for something, surely?”

“To do so he’s also betraying a lot of people who currently trust him,” Athos pointed out. “But I guess two wrongs make a right when the cause is noble.”

Sinclair gave him a hard look. “I’m not sure being this antagonistic towards your client is going to be terribly helpful.”

“Oh, do fire me,” Athos breathed, but too quietly for her to hear. He straightened up and returned her gaze steadily. “I’ll win the case for you. If only because success means never having to see the man again. Now tell me the plan. When are these men going to be arrested? Because it strikes me the longer they’re wandering about unchecked, the longer the danger period to my client, not to mention the ongoing trade they’re presumably engaging in.”

“We’re closing in,” she assured him. “We’re just trying to procure a little more hard evidence before we do so. They all have to be taken down at the same time, and Mathers’ arrest particularly is gong to cause a shitstorm of epic proportions. It has to be water-tight.”

 _And it isn’t, is it?_ Athos thought uneasily. _All this hinges on the word of a proven liar._

He gave her a bleak smile. “What could possibly go wrong?”

– 

Arriving home, Athos saw Aramis in the churchyard as he drove past, and rather than going straight indoors he wandered back up the road to say hello.

Aramis was pleased to see him, taking in Athos’ pale and rather tired expression without comment. “Got time for a cuppa?” he offered.

“Always.” Athos followed Aramis back to the vicarage, a seventies semi on the other side of the church. 

“How’s things?” Aramis enquired, handing Athos a mug of tea as they settled themselves in the kitchen. Since his wedding just before Christmas Aramis had been living at the Owlbrook Manor hotel with Anne, but he’d kept the Vicarage on as a base of operations as it was convenient for the church.

“Been better,” Athos admitted with a wry smile. 

“You want to talk about it?” 

“Want to yes, can I, no,” Athos sighed.

“Well, you know where I am if things change,” Aramis offered. “Discretion goes with the job.”

“I know. But I really can’t say.” And it might put him in an awkward position, Athos thought. Aramis might not be as close to Porthos but they were still friendly. “How are you, anyway? How’s married life treating you?”

“The marriage part, good,” Aramis said with a smile. “The rest of it – well, I’m coping. Helping run the Manor as well as three parishes certainly takes my mind off things.” 

Athos nodded soberly. Aramis had been kidnapped, imprisoned and almost killed by a man he’d counted as a friend and mourned as dead, and it had left him a little quieter and more withdrawn for some time. He’d talked, a little, to Athos about it, but Athos suspected he was keeping a lot of things bottled up.

“You know I’m here too, right?” Athos said. “If you need to talk ever.”

Aramis nodded. “Thanks. It’s funny, I’ve been doing your thing, sitting up on the bell-tower a lot.”

“It helps?”

“Yeah. Don’t know why. Changes your perspective on things maybe.”

“I think the fresh air helps too,” said Athos with a smile, and Aramis laughed. 

“Certainly bloody windy enough up there!” He studied his mug, then took a breath. “Look, while you’re here there’s something I have to tell you. Some news I’ve had.”

“Is everything okay?” Athos asked, concerned at the way his friend’s expression had tightened. 

“Oh – yes, no, it’s nothing to do with that. It’s to do with you, actually.”

“Me?” Athos echoed, confused. 

“You and Porthos. You asked, a while back, if I’d marry you. If the Church revised its policy in time.”

“Ah.” Light dawned. “I take it it hasn’t?”

“Quite the opposite. They’ve made it clear clergy won’t be allowed officiate gay weddings, at all, even if it’s a civil venue. I’m really sorry.”

Athos blinked. “Well it’s not your fault.”

Aramis looked relieved. “You don’t mind?”

“Well it would have been nice. But I guess it’s not something you have any say in. “

“No.” Aramis shook his head pensively. “I was convinced they’d see sense. A modern Church has to cater to a modern society, or what’s the point of it? This is such a backwards step.”

“I hope you’ll still come?”

Aramis smiled. “You couldn’t keep me away. You still want to have it at the Manor I hope? Anne’s got a tame Registrar who can officiate.”

“Of course.” Athos promised. But as he walked the short distance home afterwards, he couldn’t shake the cold feeling in his stomach that the setback was an ill omen. If – when – Porthos found out he was representing Bonnaire, would he still want to get married? 

–

Wednesday evening found Marcheaux and Elodie driving out through Brighton and along the coast. 

“Retirement city,” Elodie observed, as ranks upon ranks of identical bungalows stretched as far as the eye could see.

“Enough to make you slit your wrists,” Marcheaux said despondently. “Shoot me before I get to the stage of buying gnomes, yeah?”

“Is there really a brothel out here?”

“I guess even gross old men need a shag,” said Marcheaux with what Elodie considered to be a staggering lack of irony.

They drew up outside a house that looked like any of the others in the road, except for the number of cars parked outside.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Marcheaux asked, as Elodie unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Wherever you’re going. Sir.”

Marcheaux gave her a look, knowing full well she only ever called him sir sarcastically, but he didn’t stop her following him to the door.

They rang the bell which was quickly answered by a woman whose smile only faltered slightly when she saw Elodie.

“Can I help?”

“Police,” said Elodie, before Marcheaux could open his mouth. “We’d like a word if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’ve got an office, somewhere nice and discreet? Wouldn’t want to put off the passing trade,” she added, as a car slowed down, took in the gathering on the doorstep and kept going.

“We’re not here to make trouble,” Marcheaux said. “And we’re off our beat so we don’t give a toss who you’ve got in here. Although if you don’t want the local boys taking a sudden interest you’d be wise to answer our questions.”

“You’d better come in,” she said reluctantly. They stepped inside, into what might have been any domestic hall in the suburb; clean, muted colours, warm lighting. Nothing to suggest what the house might be used for. Elodie supposed that was the point. No sense in drawing attention to it to whoever’s delivering the groceries. This stray thought sent Elodie down a mental rabbit hole of wondering what a brothel’s weekly order might look like. Enough milk to keep a large staff of girls in tea, case of cheap champagne and a bulk box of condoms? 

She was jolted back to the present by a woman stepping out of what appeared to be some kind of waiting room, closing the door carefully behind her. She glanced at the newcomers with only vague interest, then looked back at Marcheaux with obvious recognition.

"Hello George. Long time no see. Brought a friend have you? It's extra for threesomes you know."

"They're police Katie," the woman who'd answered the door said sharply. 

"Ohh. Brought your truncheon have you?" Katie enquired. 

Marcheaux tried to suppress a smile.

"We just want a word," Elodie interjected. "With both of you, perhaps?" Adding that on the spur of the moment partly because she wanted to watch Marcheaux squirm and partly because Katie didn't seem nearly as surprised as she pretended to be at the news he was a copper and she might be more willing to talk openly than the other woman.

They were escorted to a tiny office and sat down in the only two chairs. Katie perched on the desk, while the woman who'd let them in and still hadn’t introduced herself remained standing.

"If this about the old git next door, he's got a nerve," she began, defensively aggressive. 

"You've had complaints?" Elodie asked.

"When we moved in he demanded a discount rate. When we told him to get stuffed he made a complaint. Except we fall right on the divisional border here. Brighton couldn't be arsed and West Sussex didn't want to inherit us, so we've been mostly left alone."

"Why did you move? You were in town before, is that right?" Elodie prompted.

The women looked at each other, and the first one shrugged.

"You remember Casey?" Katie asked, addressing Marcheaux. 

“Yeah. Madam,” he added, for Elodie’s benefit.

"Manager, thank you,” Katie grinned. “Well, she retired. Found someone to buy her out. We all strung along at first under the new management, but things changed. They weren't interested in us, not as people. We'd always paid a cut of what we made towards the upkeep of the building and stuff, but they were taking more and more. Said it was for security, these muscle-headed goons suddenly appeared. Well we never asked for them. We never had any trouble there before, not what we couldn’t cope with. Made us wonder what they were afraid of. So anyway, we were so fed up we walked out. The whole lot of us. Jax here found us this place and here we are.”

“They were treating you badly?”

“More like bleeding us dry. They were demanding two thirds of what we made by the end! We weren't having that. We'd earned that money."

"Pay tax on it do you?" Elodie asked mildly. 

"We do, actually," said the woman Katie had called Jax, giving her a filthy look. "Self-employed masseuse I am. You can't touch me."

"However much some might like to," Katie murmured, running her foot up Marcheaux’s calf. He coughed and moved back, not catching her eye.

"It's the people who took over we're interested in," Elodie said. “Can you tell us anything about them? Who they were, where they came from?”

"Why should we make trouble for them? Nothing to do with us any more," Jax objected.

"It's more they've brought trouble on themselves. We don't think the girls working there now are necessarily there of their own free will." 

Another look passed between the women, reluctance mingled with concern. 

“You’re his boss, right?” Katie asked Elodie suddenly. 

Elodie opened her mouth, then hesitated, flicking a glance at Marcheaux who just looked back at her in amusement. “Yeah,” she heard herself say. “Right.” She’d been doing most of the talking so it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption to have made, and Jax had barely glanced at the ID’s they’d flashed. 

“Hope you keep him under the thumb love,” Katie grinned. “He needs a firm hand.”

“Can you help us?” Elodie persisted.

“Why, you think there’s some kind of tarts’ sisterhood we should be upholding?”

“Well if we can’t convince you to care about the girls then helping us put them out of business should at least increase your takings,” Elodie suggested, and Katie snorted.

“I don’t know where the girls came from,” she said finally. “But I don’t think they’re local. We’d’ve heard.”

“Tarts’ sisterhood?”

“Facebook more like. Anyway. I don’t know the details of who bought Casey out exactly, I think it was some kind of consortium, more than one person anyway. It weren’t the woman they put in charge, she was just the house manager.”

“Face like a Bulgarian Bulldog?” Marcheaux put in.

“Yeah, that sounds like her. Anna Ozola. Although I think she was Latvian. Anyway. There’d be this weaselly little guy would come in the end of every week and collect the takings. I never heard his name. But I get the impression he was collecting from more than just us.” 

“Would this Casey be able to tell us more?” Elodie asked hopefully.

“Probably, but good luck finding her. She pissed off to Jamaica to live with her sister.”

They tried a few more questions but it was clear they weren’t going to get much further, and after a while were escorted hastily and thankfully back to the door.

"Why did you let them think I was in charge back there?"Elodie asked curiously, once they were safely back in the car. Marcheaux wasn’t normally the type to let anyone steal his thunder.

"You were doing alright. They were talking to you. Reckon you got more out of them than I would've. All girls together, eh?" He shrugged philosophically. "Besides, one of life's unshakeable rules. Never try and interrogate a woman who's seen your dick."

Elodie suppressed a snort of laughter. “So did that get us anywhere, or not?”

“We know the new owners found themselves in a bind,” Marcheaux said slowly. “All the girls walking out at once? And they’ll’ve had overheads to meet, hungry bouncers to feed – they’d need to get up to speed again quickly. And it sounds like they weren’t offering the kind of inducements to recruit locally.”

“So they could well have shipped in a group. Where do you go for something like that?”

“There’s a source somewhere down here,” Marcheaux said. “Remember the fuss last summer, all those farm workers Du Vallon found.”

“Different demographic though. They were men as well, and mostly older.”

“They came in somehow. And not legally. Worth a look at the files, see if any of them said anything about how they ended up there.”

They were driving back the way they’d come, when Elodie gestured towards the Brighton road. “You can drop me off in the centre. I’m meeting someone.”

“Who?” 

“None of your business.”

“Secret date?” Marcheaux smirked, then watched with interest as she blushed. “Fuck me, is it really?”

“Like I said, none of your fucking business.”

“Bringing his guide dog is he?”

“Fuck off!”

Marcheaux snickered. The teasing went on back and forth all the way into town, until he dropped her off on the promenade. He considered hanging about to see who she met, but she walked into one of the hotels and he abandoned the idea. 

Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to have one last pass of the brothel he drove on down the seafront. Glancing around while waiting at a set of lights, a figure coming out of a nearby hotel looked vaguely familiar and he looked closer, curling his lip when he recognised Athos. He was deep in conversation with someone and Marcheaux craned his neck to see who it was – and stared.

After a second, he took out his phone and snapped a picture. Sent it to Porthos with the message, _Nice company your mate’s keeping. Maybe it’s him we should be asking about trafficking._

Feeling satisfied with himself at having hopefully stirred up trouble, he drove on towards the brothel. 

–

Porthos was finishing up in the office after everyone else had left for the day when the door opened and d’Artagnan walked in.

“Hello you. How's it going?" he asked. D’Artagnan had been up in London since Monday taking the first half of an introduction to firearms course.

"Duller than I was expecting, if I'm honest. Three days in and we haven't even seen a real one yet. It's all legislation and risk assessments and case history."

"Gotta prove you want it," Porthos grinned. 

"Another week of those chairs and I'll be ready to shoot something," d'Artagnan grinned. "My back's killing me and I can't feel my arse."

"When's the practical?"

"Not till next month." D'Artagnan brightened. "I passed the test at the end though."

"Multiple choice was it?"

"Shut up!" D'Artagnan laughed, flushing. "Might've been."

It was Porthos' turn to laugh. “So you’ll soon be armed and dangerous then?”

“Armed, responsible and thoroughly acquainted with policy and procedure,” d’Artagnan said solemnly, then grinned. “Not that the occasion is likely to arise very often down here I suppose.”

“Not tempted to desert us for the big city then?”

D’Artagnan laughed. “After convincing Constance to move down here? If I suggested we moved up to London now I’d bloody well need to be armed!”

He sat down at his PC and tore off the target someone had sellotaped to his monitor. “Just thought I’d catch up on what I’ve missed the last few days,” he said. “Anything spicy?”

“Not really. Marcheaux and Elodie are brothel hunting, otherwise you picked a quiet week to be gone. I’m off home anyway – see you tomorrow.”

“Night sir.”

Porthos made his way down to the car park, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket as he went down the stairs. He waited until he was sitting in the car to take it out and open the message, wondering what Marcheaux had turned up that couldn’t wait to the morning. And stared, in dumbstruck disbelief.

–


	3. Chapter 3

The photo Marcheaux had sent was of Athos and Emile Bonnaire, apparently deep in conversation. Porthos wondered if somehow it was an old picture, but knew he was fooling himself, Athos looked exactly as he had that morning.

He went cold all over, staring at the picture unblinkingly as if it might change if he watched it for long enough. It made a horrible kind of sense the more he thought about it, Athos’ refusal to say anything about his client and his increasingly distant mood, which now Porthos realised looked more and more like guilt.

Porthos felt sick. What was Athos doing with Bonnaire, of all people? Representing him, clearly, from what little he had said. He wondered what kind of hold Deveraux had over him to make Athos take on a client that he would surely have known Porthos would have been bitterly against. 

He put his phone away again, but didn’t start the car. In fact it was only when d’Artagnan came out of the station, got into his own car and drove away that Porthos realised he’d been sitting there in the gathering darkness for almost an hour. 

Porthos shook himself. He knew he was merely putting off the moment of confrontation, and that was cowardly. He started the car and finally headed, at a much lower speed than normal, towards Owlbrook.

–

Athos was in the kitchen when he got back. He had a glass of wine in one hand and was reading something on the laptop. Porthos noted that he closed the lid as he came into the room. 

"Good day?" he asked neutrally. Hoping still that there was no big conspiracy, that Athos’ next words would be ‘you’ll never guess who I saw today...’ 

But Athos merely shrugged and gave him a bland smile as he got up to pour Porthos a drink. "Average." 

"Get up to much?"

"Client meeting."

"In Brighton."

Athos froze. "How do you know that?" he asked cautiously.

"Somebody saw you." Porthos slid his phone across the table.

With a mounting sense of unease Athos picked it up and looked at the photo. It was taken from across a street, but he and Bonnaire were clearly identifiable, looking thick as thieves. 

"Who took this?" His voice sounded far away, and Athos wondered distantly if he might be about to pass out. 

"Does it matter?" Porthos sounded disgusted and Athos flinched. But there were more important things at stake than whether his own world was about to come crashing down around his ears and Athos had to concentrate on those first.

"I need to know." He met Porthos' hard gaze steadily, matching him for coldness because it was the only way he could hold himself together to get through the conversation. 

"Marcheaux," Porthos admitted irritably. 

"Shit." Athos closed his eyes briefly. It was probably all round the police station and the nearest pub by now. Marcheaux had never liked him, and would no doubt be all too ready to spread malicious gossip if he thought it might cause a rift. 

With Porthos still silently waiting for an explanation, Athos took out his own mobile and dialled a number he'd memorised rather than save in his phone.

"It's me. You need to get out."

Porthos watched his side of the ensuing conversation, curiosity gradually rising.

"Because you were seen. With me. Today. No, look, don't argue, just go to the safe house, and don't go anywhere or speak to anyone else until I call you. Yes, well that sounds very much like a you problem. Just fucking do it, will you? I'll call when I can."

Athos ended the call and stared at his phone for a moment, looking anywhere other than Porthos, too afraid of what he'd see. He reached out to the back of the nearest chair for support and took a deep breath, finally forcing himself to meet his eyes. 

Porthos was staring at him, face unreadable. "Bonnaire," he said flatly. 

"Yes." It came out as a breath, barely audible. "I would have told you. I wanted to tell you."

"And yet, you didn't." Porthos kept his voice level, and Athos felt like he could hardly breathe, would almost rather he'd been shouting at him.

"It was complicated." 

"You're defending him. Again." It wasn't a question. 

"Actually, this time we're the prosecution," Athos said. 

"What?"

"He's turning state's evidence. His testimony is expected to bring down an entire human trafficking network." Athos swallowed. No room for dissembling, not any more. "In return for a deal."

"Meaning he walks free?"

"Yes." 

Porthos studied him. Athos had reverted to staring fixedly somewhere over his shoulder and looked pale and tense. He suddenly noticed Athos' hand where he was clutching the back of the dining chair. His knuckles were white he was holding on so hard. Porthos had a brief but gut-wrenching wave of memory, not so much the argument they'd once had, but the fallout from it, the first time he'd seen Athos afterwards, how ill he'd looked. He knew with a sudden sick certainty that Athos was bracing himself for it to happen all over again.

Porthos stepped closer, into his line of vision. "Athos," he said softly, reaching out to let his own hand come to rest lightly on top of Athos' straining fingers.

Athos met his eyes almost unwillingly, then stared at him with a growing desperate hope when all he found there was gentleness. Porthos stepped closer still and opened his arms, drawing Athos in against him tightly.

Athos clung to him in disbelieving, devastating relief. “I’m sorry.” It hiccuped out of him, still hardly able to accept that Porthos wasn’t railing at him.

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” Porthos could feel Athos physically shuddering against him and held him tighter. He hated Bonnaire, hated the very idea of him and was hurt by the idea Athos might have been having anything to do with him, but the thought that Athos had been so terribly afraid of the consequences of him finding out somehow hurt more. 

Athos’ breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, somewhere that wasn’t quite crying and wasn’t quite panic, but could easily become either. Porthos just stood there and held him, saying nothing, until gradually he felt Athos relax a fraction.

“You okay?” Porthos whispered. 

Athos managed a tight nod. “I didn’t know,” he breathed. “I swear to you I didn’t know who was involved until it was too late. If he’d said before – I’d have made them find someone else, and damn the consequences. But there was such stupid secrecy I never found out until I’d said yes, and then Bonnaire only agreed to it because it was me.” He broke off, pinching his lips together as they threatened to tremble. “What a fucking mess.”

Porthos stroked his hair back from his face. “You should have told me,” he said quietly. “You could have told me. But I guess I get why you didn’t.”

Athos gave him a wary smile. “You didn’t react well, before.”

“That was a long time ago,” Porthos sighed. “I guess – I suppose I’ve figured out what’s important to me since then.” He leaned forward and brushed a kiss to Athos’ temple. “I love you, Athos. No matter what stupid shit you pull, that’s never going to change. I promise. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Athos echoed in surprise. “What for?”

“You should’ve felt you could trust me,” Porthos said regretfully. 

“I do trust you,” Athos protested, shaking his head. “But I was sworn to secrecy and I just couldn’t take the risk. This thing goes high, and implicates a police officer as well as others. I couldn’t have told you anything yet regardless of who the informant was.” He sagged tiredly. “It was just – when I realised – I didn’t know know how I could ever tell you.” 

“You’re a dick, you know that?” Porthos said fondly. Athos nodded, and Porthos laughed. “Are you alright?” he added. “You’ve been worrying about this?”

“Good thing I’m used to sleepless nights,” Athos smiled, but Porthos immediately looked worried.

“You haven’t – you haven’t been – ?”

“Back on the pills?” Athos shook his head. “No. This will all come to court in very short order, and I always knew I’d have to be on top of my game for it. No mother’s little helpers for me this time.”

“Don’t joke.” Porthos pulled him back into a hug. Athos hugged him fiercely back, then reluctantly pulled away.

“I need to make some calls. There are people who need to know Bonnaire may have been compromised, and that he’s now in hiding.” He looked considering, things variously occurring to him now that the initial panic had proved unfounded. “Do you know for a fact if Marcheaux has told anyone else about seeing us?”

“No.” Porthos shook his head. “He just sent me the photo. I don’t think he’s been back to the office. Keeping his distance I should imagine,” he added darkly.

“Could he be convinced to keep his mouth shut? How far do you trust him?”

“About as far as I could throw him.”

“I don’t mean as a person. I mean – I suppose I mean as a police officer. Is he rotten?”

Porthos considered. “No. Alright. Maybe that was unfair. He considers procedure and regulations as rating slightly below toilet paper, and occasionally he’s a complete liability, but I don’t think he’s actually corrupt as such. Not above petty bribery and extortion, but only as far as it benefits him, if that makes sense?”

“I think so. You’d trust him with confidential details?”

“Are you thinking of telling him?” Porthos asked, surprised. 

“Would he be more inclined to keep his trap shut if he understood the context? You know him better than me, I’ll bow to your judgement.”

Porthos snorted. “Well that makes a change. Yeah, I have to say, to be fair to him, there have been times when he’s come to me with stuff I needed to know, even when he knew there was a chance it could bury him.” Porthos gave Athos a significant look, and he groaned. Porthos smirked. “I mean, I’m not saying Marcheaux trusts me more than you do, but I’m also not not saying that.”

“That was below the belt.”

“Yep.” Porthos gave him a smug grin. “Just because I’m not angry doesn’t mean I’m ever going to let you forget it you know.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Fine. So we bring him in, tell him the rest. At the station?”

“No,” Porthos said thoughtfully. “If you’re right about how far this might extend, I’d say not. Would you mind him coming here?”

“Whatever you think.”

Porthos gazed at him consideringly. “Just out of interest, how long is this period of you meekly agreeing with everything I say going to last?”

Athos kissed him. “Don’t get used to it.”

–

Some time later Porthos opened the door to Marcheaux, who walked in warily while affecting disinterest.

“I’ve never been in a den of vice before.”

“I think you and I both know that’s not true,” said Porthos, unruffled. “And as a point of accuracy, the den of vice is technically next door, we’re still having roof repairs done.”

Marcheaux saw Athos waiting at the end of the passage and nodded cautiously. “La Fère.”

“Marcheaux.”

Porthos directed him into the kitchen and offered him a seat but Marcheaux remained standing, looking from one to the other suspiciously. “For the record sir, I’m not into threesomes.”

Porthos made a face. “I think I speak for both of us sergeant, when I say – eww.”

Marcheaux shrugged. “What’s this about then? You bring me here for a kicking?”

“You really think I’d beat you up? And you still came?” Porthos blinked.

Marcheaux considered, then smirked at him. “You, no.” He turned to look at Athos thoughtfully. “He might.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Athos murmured.

“Wasn’t meant as one.”

“You don’t like me, do you Marcheaux?”

Marcheaux hesitated. “No.”

“Good.” Athos gave him a cold smile. “Because I can’t stand you, and it might’ve been awkward.”

“Ladies,” said Porthos, warningly. “Can we concentrate on the matter at hand?”

“Which is?” Marcheaux finally pulled out a seat, and Athos and Porthos joined him at the table. 

“You saw me earlier today,” said Athos. “With Emile Bonnaire.”

Marcheaux gave him a nasty little smile. “Thought it was him. Can’t say much for the company you keep.”

“Who else have you told?” Athos asked.

“No one.”

“It’s important that you’re honest.” Porthos leaned forward urgently. “Lives may be at stake here. I don’t care what your answer is, but it needs to be true.”

Marcheaux stared at them, increasingly confused. “No one. Genuinely. Who’m I gonna tell? D’Art wasn’t here last time he was around, and El’s off on a hot date. Nobody else is likely to give a shit.” He frowned. “What’s this really about?”

“Bonnaire is the key witness in a case that’s about to come to trial,” Athos said steadily. “It should take down a human trafficking ring that we have reason to believe is supplying sex workers and domestic slaves to the whole of the south east and possibly beyond.”

Marcheaux gave Porthos sudden look of anger. “I suppose you’ve told him all about it.”

“No.” Porthos shook his head. “Not a word.”

“Told me what?”

“Nothing.” Marcheaux looked away. “None of your business.”

“There may be a connection between what you’re working on and an open case,” Porthos explained carefully. “We’ve been investigating the possibility that brothels on the south coast are being supplied with girls who may not be there by choice. One in particular appears to have disappeared, and there’s concern that something may have happened to her.”

“What’s her name?” 

“What’s it to you?” Marcheaux demanded.

Athos just looked at him. “I can ask Bonnaire. He may know something.”

“Lacey. She was called Lacey,” Marcheaux admitted grudgingly. 

Athos suddenly put two and two together. Marcheaux had been involved with another prostitute a while back, Lucy. The name was similar enough to jog his memory, and he suspected he knew how this investigation might have come about. 

Marcheaux had clearly read the expression on his face and was glaring at him challengingly, daring him to say something. “What?” 

Athos just shook his head. “I’ll ask,” he said quietly. “Bonnaire may have heard something, or know where she may have been taken.”

–

As soon as Marcheaux had gone Athos left as well, feeling guilty all over again that he couldn’t tell Porthos exactly where he was going, only that he had to meet Bonnaire. 

They’d arranged a safe house for just such an eventuality, renting a small and basic cottage on the slopes of the Downs at the end of a long track. Its position meant that Bonnaire should be able to see anyone coming from a long way off and Athos uncharitably hoped that his approaching headlights were currently putting the shits up him.

He pulled up outside and got out. It was pitch dark and the wind was bitterly cold. He could see the lights of the valley laid out below, the moving specks of cars, the clusters marking the villages. He shivered, and not just from the wind. It was a lonely spot.

There was a light on, and he banged on the door. “It’s me,” he called. “Athos.”

There was a moment of silence then the door cracked open. Athos shoved it wider, keen to be out of the cold, and Bonnaire yelped as it hit him.

“Was this strictly necessary?” Bonnaire grumbled as he followed Athos into the living room where he made a bee-line for the woodburner to warm his hands.

“Hopefully not, but better safe than sorry. There was a chance you’d been compromised.”

“How?”

“We were seen together, by someone who recognised both of us.”

“Shit. This is all your fault. Who was it?”

“Doesn’t matter. A police detective. He’s promised not to say anything and I’m almost sure I believe him, so it should be fine. False alarm.”

“False alarm?” Bonnaire echoed indignantly. “You make me run for what I think is my life and then tell me it’s a false alarm? Is this a game to you?”

“None of this is a game,” Athos said tiredly. “I’m sorry okay, I did what I thought was best at the time.” 

Having satisfied himself that Bonnaire was both where he was supposed to be and safe for the time being, Athos turned to leave again, then remembered the promise he’d made. 

“Are you familiar with a brothel in Brighton, run by a woman called – Anna something? Latvian, I think.”

Bonnaire made a face. “Orzola? All the charm of the Iron Curtain.”

“Did you supply girls there?”

“One or two.” Bonnaire squirmed under Athos’ interrogative stare. “Perhaps a few more.”

“Hypothetically, what would happen if one of them wanted to leave this brave new world you’d ferried them into?”

“Well, they’d need to have paid off their passage first.”

“You charged them for the privilege?” 

“I had to cover costs. These were people who wanted to come, you understand. I merely facilitated passage.”

“Despite the fact you were already being paid by the syndicate to deliver them,” Athos said disgustedly. “You mean to say you were taking money from the people you were simultaneously selling into slavery?”

“I prefer to think of it as voluntary indentured servitude.”

“I’m sure you do. You say voluntary. So they could leave, if they wanted?”

“After they’d worked off what they owed, naturally.”

“But if someone was to become a problem – a liability, say – what then?”

“Problem how?”

“Security risk. Possible link to a policeman. A sympathetic one.”

Bonnaire considered the question. “Then they’d likely have moved her somewhere else. I couldn’t say where. I wasn’t the only supplier and I don’t know all the houses.” 

“You think they’d hurt her?”

“If by hurt I assume you mean kill – I doubt it. She’d represent a significant investment. They’d want to get their money’s worth out of her. Likely move her somewhere else. Somewhere they can vet the clients a bit more closely perhaps.”

“Any idea where that might be?”

“No.”

“Could you find out?”

“It goes high up this, Athos. Police, magistrates – these are people with a lot to lose. I can’t start asking questions – if they suspect I’m the leak, I’m dead.”

“This girl may already be.” 

Bonnaire sighed. “What’s the name?”

“Lacey. That’s all I know.”

“Doubtful it’s her real name. But I can maybe find out if someone was making trouble.”

“If you would, I’d be grateful.”

Bonnaire grimaced. “You want to show that gratitude? Get this all over with as quickly as possible.”

“I spoke to Cara on the way here, let her know what had happened. She’s hoping they’ll make the arrests in the next few days so you might as well stay here for now.”

“And do what?”

“I honestly don’t care. Examine your soul?”

Bonnaire snorted. “Are they really going to act that soon?”

“That was the impression I got. I think us being recognised has made her jumpy and she’s going to push for things to be accelerated. So just sit tight, okay? It’ll be over soon. They’ve got plans in place to bring it to court immediately, they don’t want to give the accused any time to work on their defence. Also the longer they’re out on bail the higher the chances of them cleaning house.”

“What do you mean? They’ll be granted bail?” Bonnaire shot to his feet so fast he almost knocked his chair over. “They’re surely not going let them out again?”

“Exactly what I said.” Athos shrugged. “Granted it’s not ideal - ”

Bonnaire made a strangled noise of protest, but Athos ignored him.

“ - but it’s not that much of a surprise. None of them are deemed violent, and they’re unlikely to run because they know that will make them look guilty. They’ll almost certainly swing it.”

“Leaving them at liberty to bump off the star witness!” Bonnaire poked himself vigorously in the chest.

“They don’t know you’re the informant.”

“As far as you know. Anyway, what if they target you? Aren’t you worried, after what happened to Deveraux?”

Athos stared at him. “You told me you didn’t think that was connected.”

Bonnaire spluttered. “Well you clearly did. Maybe it was, how should I know?”

Athos suppressed the fleeting urge to strangle the man himself. “Just stay calm,” he advised. “Nobody knows it’s you, and nobody knows where you are. Stay put and don’t answer the phone or the door to anyone but me.”

“For how long?” 

“Like I said, they’re fast tracking it. After the arrests, probably less than a month before it hits court.”

“Fast? That’s your idea of fast?” Bonnaire yelped, and Athos gave him a thin smile.

“It can take years for cases like this to come to court. Be thankful they’d done most of the prep work for this up front.”

“Oh I’m just overflowing with gratitude,” came the snarled reply and Athos turned on him.

“Alternatively, we can end it now,” he said crisply. “You withdraw your testimony and I withdraw my services. We both walk away.”

The colour drained from Bonnaire’s face. “I can’t do that - they’d kill me.” 

“Your choice. Go through with it, or take your chances. If you’re still intent on taking them down, then put up and shut up. I’m here to get you through the court case, not to hold your hand.”

Bonnaire had subsided with a minimum of grumbling and Athos was about to leave again when there was a sudden crash. The curtain billowed into the room as the window behind it shattered and something fell to the carpet in a pool of flickering blue flame. 

Athos recovered his senses first and grabbed Bonnaire who was staring at the flames with an expression of frozen surprise. The curtains were already well alight and flames were racing across the floor and licking at the furniture. 

“Quickly. Get out. Now.” Athos shoved Bonnaire towards the door. For a second he hesitated, debating the wisdom of trying to fight the fire himself, but the speed it was spreading decided him. Whatever fuel had been in that bottle wasn’t going to be easy to extinguish.

He hurried into the hall after Bonnaire and grabbed the back of the man’s shirt as he made for the front door. 

“Not that way.” 

“We have to get out of here!” 

“Yes, but whoever threw that thing might still be out the front waiting for us,” Athos pointed out and Bonnaire swore, changing direction without further argument. 

They piled out of the back door into the night, ducking instinctively as they hit the open air, but no further attacks materialised. 

“Keep going,” Athos urged and gave Bonnaire a shove for good measure, watching as he plunged into the bushes at the edge of the garden and disappeared.

Athos himself stopped on the scrubby lawn for a moment and listened. Other than the crackle of flames taking hold on the old beams all was silent – until a car engine started up in the near distance.

Ignoring his own advice he ran around the side of the house just in time to see the lights of a car disappearing down the track, too far away to make out any details. 

The house was well ablaze by now and he moved his own car out of range before pulling over to call the fire brigade.

A figure loomed up at the driver’s side window and he nearly yelped in alarm before recognising Bonnaire.

“Jesus.” 

Bonnaire skittered round in front of the car and pulled open the door. “You’d better not have been planning on leaving without me.”

“I just didn’t want the car to go up too,” Athos retorted, although frankly it was a tempting thought.

“What the fuck just happened? What the fuck do we do now?” Bonnaire demanded as Athos accelerated away, having deciding that getting them both out of there took priority over waiting to speak to the emergency services if they didn’t want to be tied up in red tape all night.

“I’ll take you to a hotel,” Athos said. “We’ll pick one at random and book you in under a false name.”

“Is that safe? Why can’t I come home with you?” 

Athos had briefly considered this and just as quickly discounted it on the grounds that Porthos was already tolerating quite excessive levels of shit right now and would eventually run out of patience. 

There was also another factor that made it risky. “Nobody knew I’d rented this place on the off-chance you might need it. Which means whoever did this had to have followed one of us here tonight,” Athos pointed out. 

Bonnaire stared at him in alarm and twisted to see if anyone was behind them.

“Relax. Whoever it was took off ahead of us.” Athos pulled into the side to let a fire engine barrel past in the opposite direction. “But given that I didn’t tell anyone where you were planning on hiding out, I don’t see how else they could have found you.”

Bonnaire was silent, and Athos gave him a suspicious look. “I’m assuming you didn’t tell anyone yourself?”

“No, of course not. What do you take me for?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Athos asked dryly. 

“I – may have told my girlfriend,” Bonnaire admitted reluctantly.

Athos, who’d been about to pull back on to the road, stopped again. “You what?”

“She won’t have said anything,” Bonnaire protested indignantly. “I trust her implicitly.”

“I didn’t even know you _had_ a girlfriend.”

“Fiancee, actually.”

“Assuming all goes according to plan you’re about to get a new fucking identity,” Athos said. “What were you going to do, ghost her?” He was sure that nothing had ever been mentioned about witness protection for two of them.

“No!” There was genuine outrage in Bonnaire’s tone. “I would have – got word to her. She’s going to join me.”

Athos shook his head in faint despair. “You’re going to die,” he muttered. “And it’ll be because you’re too stupid to live.”

“You’re engaged aren’t you?” Bonnaire asked. “Would you leave him behind?”

“I’d’ve made fucking sure he was included in my plans from the outset!” Athos snapped. “A lot of people are going to a lot of trouble because of you and I’m really starting to ask myself if it’s worth it.”

“Alright, keep your hair on,” Bonnaire muttered. “Things escalated rather quickly, that’s all.”

Athos buried his hands in his hair and tugged at it frustratedly, taking a deep breath. “Right. Fine. You trust her?”

“Yes.” 

“You want to stay with her instead?”

“I’m not putting her in danger!”

“Oh, but you were happy enough to stay with me?” Athos rolled his eyes. “I’m taking you to a hotel. Where you stay put, do you understand? And no fucking conjugal visits.”

“You’re very bossy, aren’t you? Does your boyfriend like that?”

“Or, you can get out of the car right now and take your chances.”

Bonnaire gave a put-upon sigh. “Fine. Understood.”

“Good.” Athos put the car in gear again and briefly reflected that all this unnecessary angst in his life was at least taking his mind off any lingering anxieties he’d been harbouring over driving. 

–

“You’ve been a long time.”

The house and bedroom had been in darkness when he got home and Athos had done his best to come upstairs quietly, but judging by the voice from the bed it didn’t sound like Porthos had been asleep. 

“Sorry.” Athos switched on the lamp with a sigh. “You know how they say shit happens? Well I’d quite like it to stop happening to me, just for five minutes.”

Porthos sat up. “Is everything alright?” He sniffed. “You smell funny.”

“Smoke. Or paraffin. I don’t think it was petrol, it would have been more explodey. Although I think we might’ve got lucky with the thickness of the curtain.” He sat down wearily on the edge of the bed as Porthos looked at him in horror. “Someone firebombed the safehouse,” he explained, with an economy of words that owed more to shock that he cared to admit.

“Is Bonnaire...?”

“He’s fine.”

“Pity.”

Athos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“You’re not hurt?” Porthos asked anxiously. 

“No. Just tired, smelly and fucked off with everything.”

“Have a shower. Come to bed. And then I’ll see what I can do about the third one.” Porthos reached out and squeezed his hand. “Also you might want to revise your definition of ‘safehouse’.”

Athos started laughing weakly, helplessly, and Porthos gathered him into his arms. 

“I asked about Lacey,” Athos said, when he’d calmed down a little, and was wondering if he could just crawl into bed as he was and shower in the morning. “Bonnaire said he’d make enquiries, but if I’m honest I don’t think that’s going to happen now. It’s too dangerous. Whoever attacked us tonight had to have followed us there, which means they know by now he’s the leak.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Porthos said. “In any case I think it’s time we took the direct approach.”

–

It took him two days to get the warrants and permissions in place, but finally Porthos was in a position to do what he’d privately thought was the best course of action since Marcheaux had first confessed all, and that was to lead a raid on the Brighton brothel. 

Late in the afternoon with the building surrounded front and back by a team comprising a mixture of his own officers and some from Brighton and Hove, wearing full kit and stab vest, he approached the front door.

“Funny,” said Marcheaux at his side. “Nobody on the door. There’s been at least one meathead stood here every time I’ve been in or past.”

Their knocking and demands for entry went unanswered, and the team with the red steel battering ram were waved into action.

With the door splintered inwards they entered cautiously, but within seconds Porthos sensed the place was deserted.

A room-by-room search bore out his suspicions. Other than a series of beds and mattresses still sporting rumpled dirty linen and a stack of unwashed cups in the kitchen, there was no sign of life.

“Where the fuck did they go?” Porthos demanded frustratedly. “And how did they know to go now?” He cast a suspicious look at Marcheaux, but if anything the man looked almost distraught. 

“This is fucking Bonnaire’s fault,” Marcheaux said through gritted teeth. “You said they were on to him, they must have liquidated their assets.”

“Don’t over-dramatise,” Porthos said sternly. “What do you think happened, they all got marched off the end of the pier in broad daylight? They’ve just been moved, that’s all.” He shook his head, staring out a grimy window at the road. “Although I’m buggered if I know where to.”

–

“What’s wrong?” Athos asked in surprise as Porthos threw his coat and bag down on the floor and immediately poured himself a large whisky. For Porthos to start in on the hard stuff this early in the evening was unusual, he might have a glass of wine if Athos had already opened it, but normally he’d wait for dinner.

“A cock up,” Porthos said angrily. “Something we’d been working up to since Marcheaux raised this brothel thing. Bonnaire was our last hope to trace the girl – when he came up empty the plan was to raid the place. It was a complete bust. Completely deserted. And we know there was business going on there a matter of days ago.” Porthos threw himself into a chair disconsolately. “I don’t understand it.”

Athos stared at him, a horrible suspicion forming in his mind. “I think I might.”

“What?” Porthos stared back at him warily. 

“Why it was empty. Presumably details of the raids were filed internally?”

“Yes, of course, this crossed two separate divisions. It was a huge effort to co-ordinate it, and now we look like arseholes.”

“East Sussex being one of them?”

“Obviously. That’s us.”

Athos winced, considering his next words. “One of the men suspected of running the trafficking ring is your Superintendent Mathers.”

There was a long silence while it appeared Porthos wasn’t so much lost for words as struggling to decide which ones to use first.

“You weren’t going to tell me were you?” he said finally.

“Technically I couldn’t.”

“Bullshit. I’ve told you enough things I shouldn’t’ve when I thought you needed to know them,” Porthos pointed out bitterly.

“You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

This took the wind out of Porthos’ sails somewhat, having expected Athos to argue his case. 

“Truth is,” Athos continued ruefully, “I was so wrapped up in worrying about Bonnaire I barely gave Mathers a second thought as far as you were concerned. Do you even know the man? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned him.”

Porthos shrugged. “Met him once or twice. Didn’t take to him if I’m honest, but I couldn’t exactly tell you why. Proper old school, married, two kids, almost certainly a mason. Pillar of the community,” he added with a humourless laugh. “Jesus, this is huge. Are you sure he’s implicated?”

“Bonnaire is,” Athos told him, wondering not for the first time at the wisdom of hanging so much on the word of such a man. But it was too late now, and up to him and Sinclair to make it stick. “And this rather looks as if he’s right, doesn’t it? That someone with inside knowledge of what you were planning tipped them off?”

“Fuck.” Porthos downed his drink, looking more bewildered than angry now. “This is bad.”

“For you?”

“Possibly. If he gets taken down they’ll audit everything he’s ever been responsible for. Any excuse they’ve been looking for to make cost savings they can just claim they’re putting supervisory measures in place by merging different departments and closing a load of them down.”

Athos sat down slowly, looking shaken. “I hadn’t appreciated it would have such a far-reaching effect.”

“And you’re supposed to be the brains of the outfit.” Porthos looked at his glass but it was empty.

“Want another?”

“Nah. I’m going for a run. Maybe it’ll help. Or maybe I’ll get hit by a bus and won’t have to worry any more.”

“Porthos!” Athos followed him to his feet, but Porthos gave a tired laugh and shook his head.

“I don’t mean it. It’ll be okay. I’ll see you in a bit yeah?” 

Feeling light-headed and wishing he hadn’t knocked back quite so much whisky on an empty stomach, Porthos changed into running shoes and shorts and t-shirt and headed out. The light was fading but there was still a good hour of daylight left and he turned towards the village, jogging slowly down the lane to where a track branched off into the forestry. 

He was grumbling to himself as he ran, mostly about Athos because it meant he didn’t have to think about the potential implications of what he’d just been told. The man was a bad influence, Porthos muttered. He’d never really drunk whisky before he’d met him, and told himself he only drank it now because Athos bought it. 

As he ran under the trees, picking up speed as he warmed up, Porthos had an uncharitable moment of reflecting how much simpler his life had been when he was single. They were living on top of each other, that was the problem, the cottage was small and the sense of uneasy disorientation at being in a mirror-image layout of their own house next door had never really gone away.

By the time he’d got to the top of the hill though, legs stinging with the cold and splattered to the knees with mud, Porthos had to admit the thought of returning home to a warm house with a light on and somebody waiting for him was infinitely preferable to his old, cold flat, where the fridge was usually empty because he never had time to shop. Athos kept a well-stocked house, and never complained about the fact it was normally him who ended up doing the cooking. 

And for all they tended to butt heads occasionally, at least he and Athos understood each other. Porthos had dated some men who’d remained an utter mystery to him in their motivations and behaviour. He might not always agree with Athos, but at least he could generally see his point of view – and vice versa. There was a lot to be said for a man who at least tried to understand you. Even if he then did exactly as he pleased anyway, Porthos thought with a breathless laugh of exasperation.

He was running downhill again now, and on impulse took the path that looped around into the oak wood. The paths were narrower and muddier here, and he found himself running around the perimeter of the flooded quarry. It looked black and sinister in the half-light and he shivered, remembering how close he’d come to death in the events that had re-shaped the landscape here. 

Athos had been waiting for him then, too. The memory made him pick up the pace, breathing hard now as he took the final track back down to the road and sprinted the last stretch to the cottage. There was a warm glow behind the living room curtain and it was only as he walked up to the door Porthos realised he’d left his keys in the pocket of his other trousers. 

“Oh bollocks.” 

He rang the bell and waited panting on the doorstep until Athos came and opened it. 

Athos leaned on the doorpost and looked him up and down. Damp from the rain and more than half covered in mud, Porthos put his hands on his hips. “What?”

“Will you be wanting a shower before supper, or should I just turn the hose on you?”

Porthos laughed then and barrelled in past him, making sure Athos got equally wet and muddy as he squeezed past. 

“Shower,” he said decisively, grabbing Athos’ arm and towing him upstairs after him. “And you’re coming to wash my back.” 

–

Showered, fed, and settled comfortably with Athos on the couch, Porthos was feeling a lot more well disposed towards the world in general and Athos specifically, particularly given recent services rendered in the shower. 

“What are they going to do about Mathers?” Porthos asked, having now considered the bigger picture as well as the personal, and found both equally confounding. “They can’t let him go on interfering in active cases now they know he’s dirty, surely?”

“Comes down to when Cara can convince the CPS they’ve got enough evidence I guess,” Athos said. “I know she was pushing for it sooner rather than later, but you know as well as I do how quickly things will go tits up if we’re not sure of our facts. The thing that worries me is Bonnaire.”

“That he’ll do a bunk?”

“More that they’ll find out where he’s staying again. I’m not sure I trust him to keep his mouth shut about where he is, or even stay put for that matter. If only I knew who - ” he broke off. “Oh, no. Surely not.”

Porthos looked round to see what was disturbing him, but Athos was staring off into the middle distance with an unfocussed look in his eye. “What’s up?”

“I’ve just had a very nasty suspicion.” Athos got to his feet and reached for his shoes that were lying by the door. Porthos frowned.

“Where are you off to at this time of night?” He guessed the answer to his own question and scowled. “Oh no don’t tell me. Jesus, you spend more time with him than a mistress.”

Athos came over and straddled his lap. “Forgive me,” he smiled, as Porthos tried not to laugh.

“Why should I?” Porthos grumbled, but he didn’t resist as Athos kissed him deeply, and soon they were in a passionate clinch.

“Go on, piss off,” Porthos sighed, and Athos kissed him again for good measure.

“Don’t wait up.”

–

Forty minutes later Athos was sitting in his car down the road from Bonnaire’s hotel. Half an hour after that he was wondering if he was on a wild goose chase and wishing he’d brought a flask of tea or something when there was a movement in the entrance and he peered through the gloom. 

Recognising the figure who’d just emerged from the hotel, he got out of the car and followed them as they walked down several side-roads to the seafront and approached a parked car.

Athos sped up, and at the sound of his approaching footsteps they turned around.

“Evening, Inspector.”

“Athos.” Cara Sinclair recognised him with a jolt of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on my client.” Athos leaned against the railing. The sea was a hushing noise against the shingle in the dark behind him. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I, er – I just had a few questions for him.”

“At this time of night? Without his solicitor present?” Athos enquired lightly. “I didn’t tell you where he was,” he added slowly.

“Emile told me himself.”

“Interesting.” Athos nodded slowly. “Man’s in fear for his life, there’s already been one attempt, and he was under strict instructions not to tell anyone.”

“He trusts me.”

“He does, doesn’t he,” Athos mused. “Which is also interesting. Because I’ve known Bonnaire for years, and he does not as a rule trust the police. Which must make you more. And he told me the only other person who knew the safehouse address was his girlfriend.” 

Sinclair opened her mouth to protest, but Athos was still going. 

“You know, it’s funny, I couldn’t understand why, if he had a partner, he hadn’t included them in his bid for a new identity and he said something like it had all happened rather fast.” Athos folded his arms. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

Sinclair looked like she wanted to argue, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod.

“Jesus.” Athos let his head fall back. “If this gets out it’ll screw your case right up, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” she snapped. “Why do you think we’ve been so careful?”

Athos shook his head. “I thought it was me who’d been followed to that cottage, but they could have found out the address from you. If they saw you together and bring this up in court...”

“I never told anyone else the details of that safehouse. And I have a legitimate reason for being with him.” 

“If he’s still being watched you’d better hope they’ve never seen more than they should.” Athos blew out a sigh. “What were you going to do? Afterwards, I mean?”

“I’d have put in for a transfer. Wherever he was. We’d’ve contrived a way of ‘meeting’, supposedly for the first time, and started seeing each other.” 

“You’d change your whole life for him?”

“Have you never had anyone you’d be prepared to do that for? That you’d follow round the world, if they asked?”

Athos said nothing, although he couldn’t help thinking he certainly wouldn’t do it for someone as slippery as Bonnaire. “No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

“He’s not a bad man. He’s just an opportunist.”

“I think our definitions of bad may differ slightly,” Athos said. “But this is all irrelevant. If you want this case to have a chance of succeeding, you need to stay away from him until it’s all over.”

Sinclair nodded reluctantly. “After what happened the other night, I just had to see him.”

“You want my advice, unless you want someone to have another go at frying him to death? Stick to phone sex.”

–

It was nearly one in the morning when Athos got back, and he was thinking guiltily that this was starting to become a habit.

“Were you right?” came the sleepy voice from the darkness. “About your horrible suspicion?”

“Sadly,” Athos sighed, as he shed his clothes in short order and climbed naked under the covers. “This case gets more complicated by the day.”

“Serves you right,” Porthos said hard-heartedly, reaching out for him and making a noise of approval when he discovered Athos was pyjama-less.

“Hey,” Athos objected, half-laughing as Porthos reeled him in. “It’s not my fault.”

“Totally your fault.” Porthos kissed him before he could protest, “Come here. I’ve been saving something for you.”

Athos had a fairly good idea what that was, given it was currently digging into his hip, and shelved all further protests for later. 

–

On the way in to work the following morning Porthos was in something of a quandary as to whether to tell his team about Mathers or not. On the one hand, Athos was right, if the man got to hear that he was under investigation it could screw things up big time – on the other, they’d been equally as pissed off and baffled as him about the failed raid, and deserved to know that a man they were ultimately working for might be dirty. 

He still hadn’t quite made up his mind by the time he reached the office, although was erring towards taking d’Artagnan at least into his confidence and seeing what he thought. As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. When he walked into the CID suite it was to find two sombre looking women in occupation of two of the computer terminals and a third man going through the paper filing. They all wore practically identical bland grey suits, and looked like they couldn’t come up with a joke between them.

“What’s going on?” Porthos asked in an undertone, as d’Artagnan came over to meet him at the door.

“Professional standards,” d’Artagnan said. “I can’t work out exactly what’s happened, but it sounds like a shitstorm has gone down at the highest level, and somebody’s been suspended – possibly arrested, not sure – and the hounds have been let loose on everything they might have influenced.” He scratched his chin. “Has to be someone pretty high up the food chain, rumour has it a similar death squad has turned up at every nick in the division this morning.”

“Superintendent Mathers,” Porthos supplied, and d’Artagnan stared at him.

“You knew?”

Porthos shook his head. “Only since last night. Sounds like they’ve made the arrests.” He looked thoughtful. “Which one’s in charge? I think they could do with knowing about yesterday’s little non-event.”

“It was Mathers?” D’Artagnan boggled at him. “You think he tipped them off?” 

“If what he’s being accused of is true, almost certainly,” said Porthos. “And weirdly, it might prove his downfall if we can prove he knew about the operation. It might just be the connection they need.” 

–


	4. Chapter 4

Two days before the trial was due to start Athos received a pack of information on the arrangements and timings. He skimmed down through the information and groaned.

“Oh bollocks.”

“What’s up?” Porthos enquired. 

“Counsel for the defence. Jocelyn Warren.”

“Good is she?”

“It’s a he. And yes, very. Recently made partner at Benet and Shaw.”

“Your old firm?” Porthos frowned as something rang a bell. “Didn’t you get Constance to nick something from his office once?”

“Yeah, don’t tell him that, he never found out about it,” Athos grinned. He read further down the details and his face fell. “Oh God. Court Four. It had to be, didn’t it.”

“What’s that?”

Athos gave him a resigned look. “Courtroom number four. I think I told you, when I had my breakdown it reserved its most public manifestation for when I was in the middle of a case? Started seeing things, shouting at someone who wasn’t there, until I was gently but firmly escorted from the premises?”

“Court four?” Porthos guessed, and Athos nodded with a wince. 

“Not my finest hour.”

“Bad omen?”

Athos shook his head slowly. “Or worse, the defence getting the request in under the radar.”

Porthos looked shocked. “You mean this Jocelyn might’ve asked for that room exactly because he knew it would have upsetting memories for you?”

“It’s not impossible.” Athos gave him a wry smile. “He could easily have contacts in the admin office. Blood sports have got nothing on barristers for viciousness you know.”

“You’ll be okay though, right?”

“Of course.” Athos reached out for him more confidently than he felt. “Mainly because I don’t have a choice.”

–

The eve of the trial itself found Athos back at the mews cottage having dinner with Theo. The blinds were firmly drawn against the night and any prying eyes and the interior was made warm and cosy with elegant lamps and ornate wrought iron radiators. 

“You haven’t turned vegetarian I trust?” Theo asked, pouring Athos a glass of expensive red. 

“No, you’re safe there.”

“Boeuf bourguignon,” Theo explained, as Athos sniffed the appetising aroma coming from the oven.

“Smells amazing.”

“It’s important to keep body and soul together in times of stress.” 

“How are things?” Athos enquired. “Have they set your trial date yet?”

“No, not yet.” Theo sighed. “You know what they’re like. It could be years.”

“They can’t draw it out that long, surely,” Athos protested, despite what he’d said to Bonnaire. “It’s cruel. And you can’t practice again until it’s resolved.”

“On the other hand, if I get sent down for it, long may they prevaricate.” Theo raised his glass in ironic salute. “At least I’m at liberty. There was some question of whether they’d set bail. But apparently I’m not deemed a risk to others.”

“We’ll fix this,” Athos insisted. “You’re innocent. They can’t convict you for something you didn’t do.”

“For someone who spent as long as you did in the bosom of the English legal system, you’ve retained a touching faith in the process of the law.”

“I have to believe it still works at heart,” Athos said. “But you’re right. I know perfectly well it can be circumvented. Perhaps the question should be how do we circumvent it to our advantage?”

Theo smiled wistfully. “You’re not my solicitor Athos. I’ve already asked far too much of you. My fate is not your responsibility.”

“You’re saying you don’t want me to help?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to compound the danger I’ve already put you in.”

“Just tell me what I can do.”

“Come and visit me inside?”

“Theo!” 

Theo smiled, and laid a finger lightly on Athos’ lips. “Just eat with me? Help me forget for a while all the shit that’s hanging over me?” 

“I guess I can do that.” Athos smiled back. “Although, I will have to be gone by half ten. Porthos is driving up tonight to meet me at the hotel.” 

“Unsubtle point duly noted,” Theo laughed. “I shall be the perfect gentleman.”

“You always were. No, I have to confess any ulterior motives I have for being here are strictly related to picking your brains about the case.”

“Then they are entirely at your disposal.”

–

It was closer to eleven by the time Athos got back to the hotel, and only a few minutes later was a knock at the door.

Porthos walked in cheerfully, only to stop short in surprise.

“You cut your hair,” he said.

Athos smiled. “Appearances count for more than they should in the High Court, and my days of being able to get away with long hair at the bar are long gone,” he admitted. “You don’t like it?”

“You look different,” Porthos muttered, conscious it was a small niggle in the scheme of things, but felt unsettled nonetheless, perhaps because he hadn’t been prepared for it. Not that Athos had to ask his permission to have his own hair cut, but some warning would have been nice.

“It’ll grow back,” Athos promised. 

“Yeah, I know,” Porthos muttered, feeling silly. Athos took hold of his hands and drew him in for a kiss.

“It’s still me.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine, leave it,” Porthos said, more crossly than he meant to. He was having a hard time reconciling his own feelings about this case, and had a nasty suspicion that it was rooted not in hatred for Bonnaire but in fear for Athos. He’d half expected something awful to befall them by now and the fact it hadn’t meant the tension was constantly increasing rather than dropping away. 

Athos didn’t seem to be affected, and Porthos couldn’t tell if he was better at hiding it or if this was genuinely just business as usual for him. He was coming to the realisation there was a steel core to Athos that he hadn’t fully appreciated up to now, and it went a long way to explain how he’d managed to drag himself out the other side of a suffocating addiction. 

“Have a drink?” Athos offered, and Porthos accepted the change of subject gratefully. 

“Thanks. How’s your day been?” 

“I’m as ready for tomorrow as I can be, I think.” 

“And how was Theo?”

Athos swirled the liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “I think he’s scared and trying desperately not to show it. And I wish there was something more I could do, but I just don’t know what.”

“If there is anything you’ll find it,” Porthos said, and shrugged when Athos looked surprised. “You always do.”

–

Athos walked into the courtroom the next day with a measured pace and impassive expression. The smell of the place was what what hit him the hardest, a particular mixture of wood polish and ancient carpet, and something else he’d always fancifully thought of as ingrained emotion that had seeped into the fabric of the place, but now suspected might just be damp. 

To his relief the surroundings didn’t engender any particular feelings of unease. He hadn’t been sure how he’d react until he walked in, but the memory of that day was already blurred at the edges, partly due to his fractured mental state at the time and partly to the enormous amount of sedation he’d been put under shortly afterwards. He’d spent a lot of time in this courthouse over the years, and the feeling he got now was if anything one of calm familiarity. He hadn’t been entirely convinced they would get this far, and now that they had it became a matter of procedure more than anything else.

He resisted the urge to turn and look for Porthos up in the public gallery. A combination of curiosity, desire to give Athos moral support, and also just wanting to see Bonnaire out of their lives once and for all had prompted Porthos to offer to come up to London for the trial, and Athos found it a comforting thought that he was up there somewhere.

“The Honourable Lord Justice Firmin.”

They rose as the judge took his place, and proceedings got underway. Pleas of not guilty had already been entered by all four against the charges brought under the Modern Slavery Act, of conspiracy to traffic, false imprisonment, and controlling prostitution for gain. 

The accused were arrayed side by side in the dock, and Athos studied them with interest as he’d seen photographs, but none of them in the flesh before. They presented a mismatched appearance. Chief Superintendent Mathers looked thunderously angry. Timmins the magistrate looked physically sick, and Franks and Skerrit had assumed expressions of indignant innocence. Athos wasn’t sure which of them looked guiltiest. 

Once the charges were summarised, Jocelyn Warren began with a statement on behalf of his clients. It read as a not-so thinly veiled threat against the jury in particular, and Athos was annoyed when the judge didn’t pick him up on it. 

“My clients wish to state for the record that these are preposterous allegations which they deny most strongly. They wish to express their outrage at being smeared in such a fashion and wish it to be known that when they are found innocent they will be bringing private prosecutions of libel against all those involved.”

Athos interjected. “While I understand the burden of proving guilt lies with us, I should hope no one, in whatever position of power or privilege, would consider a trial such as this to be a foregone conclusion. It should perhaps be noted for the benefit of the jury that the Crown Prosecution Service would never pursue a case against people such as those here today without a considerable body of evidence behind them. Nobody is above the law, and the victims of such calculated, venal exploitation who have been defrauded, abused and imprisoned will, I hope, see justice served accordingly.”

“Justice will naturally be done,” replied Warren smoothly, “and I am confident my clients’ innocence can be robustly demonstrated to everyone’s satisfaction.” He half-turned to the open court. “And may I be the first to congratulate Mr la Fère here on his return to the bar? His presence has been much missed. You retired from practice for a while didn’t you? After such an unfortunate breakdown. Residential care, wasn’t it?”

Up in the gallery Porthos ground his teeth, taken aback at such a personal and direct attack. He’d known the defence would do their utmost to discredit the prosecution but he hadn’t expected anything like this.

Athos however, seemed unruffled. “If my honourable colleague is suggesting I know what insanity sounds like, he’d be correct, at least in his case.”

A ripple of laughter passed around the court, and the judge looked reproving. “Yes, thank you Mr la Fère. Mr Warren, Mr la Fère is not the person on trial here, if you could restrict your comments to the defendants, please.”

The trial got underway with DI Sinclair presenting the initial evidence for the prosecution. She proved to be a concise and clear speaker, which Athos knew would win them points with jury and officials alike, and he hoped it would distract from the fact that most of the evidence was circumstantial. He knew if he’d been on the opposing counsel he could have ripped it to shreds and could tell by the self-satisfied look on Jocelyn’s face that he was preparing to do exactly that. They had a single secret weapon in their armament, and it was one man’s testimony. 

As their chief witness Bonnaire was the next to be called, and as he crossed the court Athos studied the reactions of the men in the dock. Given the lengths they’d gone to to keep his identity secret this should have come as a shock to them, but given the earlier attack it was possible they were all prepared for his appearance by now, and to a man they presented a blandly disinterested expression. 

Athos reflected on the fact that Bonnaire was regrettably the least trustworthy appearing man in the room. He came across as slightly too eager to please and Athos knew that what he had to say would be unlikely to endear him to the jury. As Bonnaire took the oath, Athos felt the first spike of unease that the trial might not go the way they wanted it to.

Athos cleared his throat. 

“Mr Bonnaire. Will you tell the court please how you have been working.”

Bonnaire licked his lips, glancing around the room. Athos sent up a silent plea for the man to focus on him and to resist the urge to embellish anything. 

“I have been arranging travel for those migrant workers who wish to find employment in this country.”

“Illegally.”

Bonnaire fidgeted. “Without perhaps fulfilling due process. The red-tape involved is unnecessarily complicated and extended. I – helped shortcut the procedure.”

“And were you only arranging travel for these people? Or work as well?”

“Well, I’m sure you appreciate, not everyone can entirely afford their passage. So an arrangement is made, whereby costs are offset by a pre-arranged placement, where they work off the balance.”

“So they pay you to come. And then someone at this end also pays you, to take them off your hands.”

“Well. Yes.”

“How very lucrative.”

“These were all people who wanted to come here,” Bonnaire protested. “They were hardly being snatched off the streets, I was providing a service.”

“And what were they under the impression they would be doing upon their arrival? What did you tell them the work would consist of?”

Bonnaire’s eyes flickered around the room again. “Domestic placements, mostly. Housekeeping, childcare, that sort of thing.” 

“And was that the case?”

A hesitation, longer this time. “It wasn’t up to me.”

“You don’t know?”

“No, I just – I want it to be clear that what happened to them afterwards wasn’t of my doing.”

“You didn’t give it a thought?”

“Well - ”

“They were all young women? Your clients. No men, no older women?”

“That’s correct. That’s – that’s what there was a market for.”

“And so – ?”

“Brothels. They were put to work in brothels.”

Athos let out an undetectable sigh of relief. For a moment he’d been afraid Bonnaire would bottle it and deny his involvement to an extent that would have rendered his testimony useless, or at best have offered the defendants the same level of plausible deniability.

“How did you circumvent the immigration process?”

“I had an arrangement with a bulk cargo company. The girls would travel in shipping containers.”

“A process that’s often notoriously fatal.”

“It’s not like they were coming from China. From Europe it’s a couple of days at most.”

“Unless there was a hold-up. Impounded freight can stay on the docks for months. You had no way of guaranteeing their safety.”

“They knew the risks involved.”

“Did they? You didn’t downplay it at all?”

“Perhaps. But they were desperate. They’d have come regardless. Safer with me than hiding under a train or something.”

Athos paused, apparently consulting his notes while a mutter of reaction ran through the room. “And this company whose containers you were using. They were aware of this?”

“Obviously. Some had to be diverted. There were arrangements in place.”

“And will you tell us the name of the company, and your contact there?”

“Tantalus Freight. And I dealt directly with the owner. Frank Bridges.”

Bridges shot to his feet in the dock, foaming with protests and was ordered by the judge to sit down again. 

Pleased with the effect he’d had, Athos hadn’t finished by a long way.

“And Mr Bridges, did he take delivery of the girls in person?”

“No, he just arranged the transport.”

“So when the containers were delivered – someone else took possession of them?”

“Yes. Mr Skerrit over there.” Bonnaire nodded towards the dock, and the man sitting on the left of the row.

In contrast to Bridges, Skerrit merely raised an eyebrow and shook his head slightly. He’d been silent throughout, speaking only to confirm his name and enter a plea of not guilty. 

“Skerrit was in charge of the operation?” Athos prompted. They’d been through this, the best way to present each man’s guilt to the jury, Bonnaire nervously keen to make it look like Athos was dragging the information out of him and Athos not averse to a bit of shop-floor theatricals. 

“No. He was the one arranging who went where.” 

“But you do know who was in overall charge?”

“Yes. He’d turn up occasionally, keep an eye on things.”

“And do you see that person here today?”

“Yes. Superintendent Mathers.”

It was Mathers’ turn to rise to his feet like a rocket. “This is outrageous! I’ve never seen this man before in my life!”

“Sit down, Mr Mathers,” said the judge heavily. “You will have your opportunity to speak.”

Athos caught the mild wince Jocelyn gave and counted it as a strike in their favour. A client that couldn’t be controlled was the one most likely to fuck up your carefully prepared defence, and Mathers had the most to lose. He made a mental note to rile the man as much as possible.

“You were aware he was a policeman?” Athos asked Bonnaire.

“Not at first. I’d have assumed it was a sting. It was some time before I found out who he was.”

“How did you?”

“From Timmins.”

In the dock Mathers and Timmins glared at each other and Athos nodded. “You were curious? About who he was?”

“I like to know who I’m dealing with. I made it my business to find out.”

“You didn’t trust him?”

“Well no. He had that sort of face.”

The viewing gallery tittered, Mathers looked like he was about to have a stroke, and Athos nodded, well satisfied.

“And Timmins, you mention his involvement, for the record what was that?”

“He handled the paperwork. Paid me what I was owed, and I think he took the money from the brothels off Skerrit.”

“Let’s stick to what you know rather than what you think,” Athos said firmly. Juries didn’t like supposition any more than barristers and Warren would rip that to shreds given a chance, but by getting in first he could make it sound like the rest of what Bonnaire was saying had the weight of fact about it. 

Now he just had to hope he could get the rest of Bonnaire’s evidence to sound as dependable.

–

In the lunchtime recess, Bonnaire was full of indignant protests. “You were coming on a bit strong this morning weren’t you?” he demanded as soon as they were alone. “You’re supposed to be representing me, not interrogating me.”

“Listen. Jocelyn’s bread-and-butter work is defending people like you. He could take you apart in under an hour, he knows exactly where the cracks are. But if I get in first, lay bare all the unpleasantness, he doesn’t have anywhere to go with it. Do you see? He can’t expose something we’ve brought up voluntarily as part of the evidence. We have to walk a careful line – convince the jury you’re dirty enough to know what you’re talking about, while not so untrustworthy that you might be lying about the defendants.”

“I’m not untrustworthy! I’m a man of my word!”

“You buy and sell human lives for profit.” 

“I’m just trying to make a living. Not my fault there’s a market for it.”

“People aren’t things.”

“No, they’re volunteers. Every single person I transported wanted to come into this country. If it wasn’t me it would’ve been someone else. How many of your vegetables are picked by illegals? How many of your posh lawyer friends’ houses are cleaned by them? Malum prohibitum, is what it is. It’s not hurting anyone.”

“Swallowed a legal dictionary did you?” Athos abruptly wanted nothing more than to be out of here, to have a shower and a drink, not necessarily in that order. “You weren’t smuggling cheap labour as a tax dodge, you were selling unwitting girls into prostitution. And yes, before you fucking interrupt me, there is a difference.”

“Do you think I’ll be safe?” Bonnaire asked, suggesting not so much a desire to change the subject as a suggestion he hadn’t been listening anyway. “They know it’s me now.”

Athos sighed. “Yes, I think so. To make a move now would look too incriminating.” He gave Bonnaire a nasty smile. “But I’d lock your door tonight, just in case.” 

–

In the afternoon the defence had their first opportunity to cross-examine and Warren stood up, with a measured lack of haste. 

“Mr Bonnaire. Not your first time appearing before this court, is it?”

Athos was on his feet immediately. “Your Honour, the charges Mr Warren refers to were dismissed. My client does not have a criminal record.”

“Sustained. Mr Warren you will restrict your questioning to the matter at hand, and remember that Mr Bonnaire is a witness not a defendant.”

“Thank you,” said Bonnaire brightly, and the judge glared at him in disgust.

“At the present time,” he added heavily.

Warren addressed the stand once more. “Mr Bonnaire. You claim to have dealt directly with Chief Superintendent Mathers?”

“Not exactly directly. But I saw him. With the others.”

“How often would you say this was?”

“Three or four times maybe.”

“Over a period of how long?”

“About six months.”

“Indoors? In full daylight?”

“No, always at night. The containers would be offloaded in a - ” Bonnaire broke off as Warren held up a hand.

“So your identification of Mathers, if we are to assume for the moment that you are telling the truth at all,” he paused for a significant glance at the jury, “or at least as you see it, is based on not even a handful of infrequent glimpses in poor light?”

“And Timmins - ”

“Ah yes, or on being told by someone else who he was. Did you corroborate this identification at all?”

“The man I saw is the man standing over there,” Bonnaire said with a touch of impatience. “I don’t care what he’s called or what he does, I don’t forget a face.”

“How about the faces of all the young girls you sold into the sex trade?” Warren asked, abruptly changing tack. “Do you remember their faces?”

“Is this relevant?”

“Just trying to get a picture of you as a man, Mr Bonnaire. To help us understand your possible motives, for colluding in such damaging claims against these men, all of whom are upstanding members of the community. What do you contribute to society, Mr Bonnaire?”

“Well, access to prostitutes for a lot of those same upstanding members for a start.”

The courtroom exploded in a combination of hilarity and outrage, and it was several seconds before the impatient judge could restore order.

Athos sighed inwardly. He’d always known Bonnaire on the stand was going to be a liability, but it was going to be a long week. 

“And your motives, for accusing these men? Were you in danger of being arrested yourself perhaps? Or had you made your pile, and decided to arrange for a comfortable retirement?”

“Even a man like me can be sickened by what he sees.” Bonnaire caught Athos’ eye, and reined in the innocence. “No, alright, that’s not strictly true. I was afraid. I wanted out, and I began to see that I would never be allowed to escape with my life.”

“You’re an overdramatic man, aren’t you Mr Bonnaire? Or are you accusing my clients of threatening you now? I suggest you think very carefully about your answer.”

“Well somebody did try to kill me.”

Jocelyn looked startled, but Athos was staring at the defendants. Did any of them betray a glimmer of guilt, of recognition? He hadn’t lost hope of connecting this to Javier’s death, and finding out who’d been behind the attempt on Bonnaire was his best chance. He was getting the distinct impression that Mathers was the driving force behind the group as a whole. Greedy men, all of them, with no need of the income, but he got the feeling there was more to it with Mathers. Power, perhaps. Or simply cruelty? 

Now Mathers was staring at Bonnaire with a slightly curled lip, as if to say it was a shame the attempt on him had failed, but Athos wasn’t sure if that implied complicity or merely that he’d have been happy to see harm befall Bonnaire in any form. 

Athos looked at the others. Franks appeared if anything rather alarmed, Timmins looked confused, and Skerrit was staring morosely at the floor, as if determined to take no further part in proceedings. He’d stuck to his guns, Skerrit, and was maintaining his right to remain silent regardless of what Bonnaire and Athos had accused him of in the morning session. It was a hard thing to do in practice, and Athos mused that if he managed to keep it up it would be hard to make the case against him unless they could crack one of the others. Convincing Franks or Timmins to shop his fellow accused with a plea-bargain could make the difference between a short trial and one that dragged on for days if not weeks.

Bonnaire had started relating the circumstances of the firebombing, but Jocelyn had quickly shut him down and Athos made no move to object, despite the pointed glare Bonnaire was giving him. They had no proof of who’d been responsible for it, and if they started tacking unproven accusations onto their case it would tarnish the rest of it.

– 

Porthos had watched Athos’ performance with conflicting feelings – a mixture of pride and nerves was tinged with an unshakeable distaste for the man Athos was defending. When they reunited at the end of the first day’s proceedings both men were preoccupied, and conversation over dinner was sporadic. 

Back in the privacy of their hotel room, Porthos found there were some thoughts he had to get out.

“Do you believe all that bollocks he was spouting today?” he asked. “All that rot about him not being responsible for where they’d end up?”

“Not a word,” Athos said cheerfully. “The entire case is based around the fact he’s been able to tell us exactly what they were up to, after all.” His smile faltered a little as he took in Porthos’ expression. “What?”

“You’re a good liar,” Porthos said after a beat.

This seemed a rather unfair summation of the result of years of intense legal training, but Athos couldn’t really find fault with it. He turned away. “Yes. I suppose I am.” He contemplated the minibar, then walked over to his bag and took out a full-size bottle of scotch he’d wrapped in a jumper. Poured himself a large measure, his shoulders prickling with the weight of the silence and of Porthos’ eyes on him. 

He wasn’t entirely sure where Porthos was going with this, and sincerely hoped they weren’t about to get into the ethics argument he’d always dreaded and thought they’d avoided. But he was damned if he’d start defending himself. 

“I think I know now why Marcheaux’s never liked you.” Porthos spoke slowly, as if working something through, while Athos stared fixedly out of the window at the lights of the night-time city, sipping his drink.

“Well, he’s always been a fine judge of character.”

“I mean, he saw you, during that first case. This is all he’s ever seen of you.”

“You mean during my peak shifty lawyer phase?” Athos’ words were light but his tone was cold, and still he refused to look round.

“Exactly. I mean,” Porthos amended, finally realising how his words were sounding, “he’s never seen the other side of you.”

“The man beneath the lizard, you mean?”

“Athos.” Porthos put a hand on his arm and Athos finally looked round at him. 

“I don’t care what bloody Marcheaux thinks of me. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me,” Athos said heatedly, then softened his tone into something closer to regret. “I only care what you think.” 

“I love you,” Porthos said. “But sometimes I realise there’s so much of you I don’t know.”

“Not really.” Athos shook his head slightly, protesting. “This is me. It’s all there is. The man down there, in the suit, in front of the bench? That’s not me. That’s just acting.” 

“Bloody good acting.”

“Am I supposed to thank you or apologise?”

“Neither. Don’t be stupid.”

Athos gestured helplessly. “What do you want me to say? What do you want me to _do_?”

“I don’t know.” Porthos shook his head tiredly. “Nothing. You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not saying that.”

“I’ve upset you,” Athos pointed out more softly. “That’s about as wrong as it gets.”

Porthos shook himself. “I dunno. You might feel the same if you saw me at work I suppose.”

“All that police brutality?” Athos suggested with a smile.

“Exactly.” Porthos snorted, finally smiling back and pulling Athos into his arms. “Are we paying for all this?” he asked, gesturing at the hotel room.

“No, it’s being taken care of.”

“Hmmn. Hotels always make me horny.”

“Do they now?” Athos clasped his arms around Porthos’ neck. “That’s a coincidence, because a day in court has much the same effect on me.”

Porthos kissed him possessively, heartily glad they were alone together at last. Athos pressed up against him, entirely happy for Porthos to be as demanding as he liked. The adrenaline was still coursing through his system, and it was with something close to a sigh of relief when Porthos pushed him down on the bed and straddled him.

Porthos looked down at him. From his position sitting on his crotch he could feel Athos getting hard underneath him, and he grinned.

“Ready for some police brutality?” 

Athos smirked. “You make an arresting offer.”

–

Entering his counsel chamber the next morning before court Athos glanced at something that had been left in the middle of the table, then did a double take. Sitting in the centre of the empty surface, where it certainly hadn’t been last night, was a medical tablet bottle. 

With a cold feeling settling in his stomach, Athos put down the folder of papers he was carrying and slowly picked it up to read the label. Diazepam. 

His hand shook as he put it down again, taking a step back as if physical distance would help. Athos looked round at the door he’d just come in through – he’d definitely had to unlock it, and his name and details were on it, a printed sheet in a plastic sleeve, which meant this was no horrible coincidence.

He passed a hand over his face, feeling shaken and wondering what to do. At the same time he was angry with himself. Every time he thought he had his addiction under control, something happened to remind him it was a thin veneer at best and the cravings were still there under the surface, especially at times of stress. He’d happened across an old bottle at home not long previously, and now as then just the sight of them was like a physical blow to the stomach.

Athos sank down into a chair and reached out for the bottle.

–


	5. Chapter 5

As the court settled in for the second day of proceedings, Porthos made sure he was first into the public gallery to get a seat at the front. Apart from anything else there was more leg room there, the balcony was old and cramped and spending hours on the hard narrow seats was quickly losing its appeal. 

He watched as the players below took their places. There was no sign of Bonnaire this morning, which was almost certainly going to comprise a tedious procession of witnesses the defence were wheeling out to provide convenient alibis for all those dates and times Bonnaire had claimed to meet with them.

There was initially no sign of Athos either, and Porthos wondered what was keeping him. They’d parted in the entrance hall, agreeing to meet back there at lunch, but Athos had only been going to drop something in his room.

Jocelyn Warren pointedly looked at his watch, but before anyone could enquire as to the prosecution’s whereabouts the door below opened to admit him, and Athos hurried across to take his place. Porthos thought he looked pale, and wondered what had happened. It wasn’t long before he found out, as once proceedings got underway, Athos got to his feet and requested permission to make a statement.

The judge glanced at Jocelyn for any objection, but he shrugged and shook his head. “Very well. Continue.” 

Athos paused. “Someone appears to have left me a present overnight.”

“Is this relevant?” asked Judge Firmin sternly, frowning at him over the top of his glasses.

“I believe so your Honour.” Athos took a plastic bag out his pocket, containing something that rattled as he held it aloft. “Because you see it’s a bottle of Valium. Left in plain sight on my table, in a locked room. Not something that could have been mistakenly left behind, and no prescription information on the label that might indicate the owner.”

“What are you suggesting?” demanded the judge. Up in the gallery Porthos leaned forward, gripping the polished rail in horror.

“That someone left them for me, in a calculated attempt to derail this trial,” said Athos levelly. “Someone familiar with my medical history.”

Jocelyn looked startled, and then as if he didn’t know whether to be indignant or defensive. Athos hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction, but after his crack about Athos’ breakdown on the opening day he could feel every other eye in the place fixed on him.

“I make no accusations,” Athos said calmly. “I draw the court’s attention to it for two reasons, one, to emphasise that there are forces who would stop at nothing to see this prosecution fail, and two, that they may know they have been unsuccessful. The police will be taking possession of this in due course, and investigating who may have left it.”

He set the bag down upon the bench in front of him and amidst a murmur of consternation, prepared for the morning’s proceedings to begin.

–

"Athos."

Leaving the court at lunchtime, Athos turned to see Jocelyn hurrying towards him. He stopped to let the man catch up, noticing with a certain amusement the way the man looked round furtively to check he would not be seen speaking with the opposing counsel.

"Jocelyn." 

"I sincerely hope you know I had no knowledge of, and certainly nothing to do with those things being left in your room," Jocelyn said in a hurried undertone.

"Well, I'm very glad to hear it." On balance, Athos decided he believed him. The man would be wary of a mis-trial meaning they had to start all over again, and confident enough in his own abilities to resolve things in court. He'd worked with the man for a number of years before leaving Benet and Shaw, and while he didn't particularly like him or trust him, he couldn't see the man exposing himself to the level of risk inherent in physically nobbling the opposition.

Jocelyn stared at him uncomfortably, unsure whether Athos was sincere in his easy acceptance of his innocence. Athos held his gaze levelly. Jocelyn might be innocent of any involvement, but he wasn't above taking advantage if he thought Athos had been ruffled by it.

As they stood there, the sound of running footsteps rounded the corner and a man ran past them, making them both jerk sideways into the wall to avoid him. As he passed, he made a grab at the bag Athos was holding, yanking it out of his grasp and racing off down the corridor.

Jocelyn stared after him in shock, and then looked curiously at Athos, who'd made no move to pursue or even object. "Did that man just steal your evidence?"

Athos gave him a thin smile. "Technically no. What I held up in court was a bottle of indigestion tablets. I gave the actual sleeping pills directly to the police as soon as I found them. Wisely, as it turns out. It’s why I was late."

"I hope you don't think - " Jocelyn tailed off, uncomfortably aware it must look like he'd waylaid Athos to enable the robbery to take place. 

"You do a lot of hoping, don't you?" Athos looked at his watch and gave Jocelyn an insincere smile. "See you later, no doubt." He walked unhurriedly away, wanting to be out of there as soon as humanly possible but determined not to show a shred of weakness.

Porthos was waiting for him in the public entrance hall, pacing up and down under the stone columns. When Athos appeared he pounced on him anxiously.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” Athos smiled ruefully. “To be honest I was so angry it barely occurred to me to want to take one.”

Porthos let out a shuddering sigh, clasping Athos’ hands tightly as if sending up a prayer of thanks. “Do you need to see the police?”

“Already done. Come on.” Athos squeezed his fingers comfortingly. “Let’s get out of here, I need some fresh air.”

He related to an incredulous Porthos all that had happened that morning as they strolled through the grounds of nearby St Paul’s looking for an unoccupied bench. They ate a sandwich lunch, fending off pigeons and hoping the rain would hold off. The grey sky was getting steadily darker, and as they walked back towards the courts afterwards the wind held the first hint of drizzle.

Having seen Athos safely off into the bowels of the building, reassured that he was safe and well at least for the time being, Porthos found he had little appetite for another afternoon spent on the uncomfortable and cramped seats of the viewing gallery. 

Making up his mind on the spur of the moment, Porthos turned round and exited the building again, deciding to spend the afternoon on an errand of his own. He didn’t get the chance to come up to London very often, and one possibility had been going round his head for days, ever since it had occurred to him.

He’d said nothing to Athos, knowing he’d have felt honour-bound to come with him, and Porthos wasn’t sure he wanted company. 

Taking the tube and then the overground to Earlsfield, he walked the short distance to Wandsworth cemetery. The drizzle was constant now, and Porthos hunched his shoulders against the cold as he wandered sombrely between the rows of graves looking for the names he knew must be there somewhere. 

He knew the year, and had assumed it wouldn’t be too difficult to find but after a fruitless hour combing the modest cremation plaques he was starting to despair. His parents hadn’t had much money, and any physical assets had been destroyed in the explosion that had killed them. He’d assumed they’d have had the council equivalent of a pauper’s grave, but maybe he was wrong. Without much hope he widened his search to take in the rows of larger memorial stones. 

After another twenty minutes of wandering he found it, a full sized stone inscribed with their names. And that wasn’t all. 

In the near-deserted cemetery, oblivious to the worsening rain, Porthos stood there and stared in shock.

–

When Athos returned to the hotel that evening he found Porthos sitting propped up on the bed, staring blankly into space.

“Hello.” Athos went about shedding his jacket and tie with a groan of relief. “Didn’t see you in court this afternoon? Bored already?”

“I didn’t think you’d miss me.”

“I like an audience,” Athos smiled, climbing up next to him and kissing him. He drew back when Porthos didn’t respond, finally noticing his mood. “What’s up?”

“I went to Wandsworth.”

“The prison?” Athos teased.

“The cemetery.”

“Oh.” Athos frowned. “The cemetery?”

“Yeah. I wanted to find my parents’ grave. Well, my mother,” Porthos corrected. “And Philippe.”

“Did you find it?”

“Eventually, yeah. Bigger memorial than I expected. I guess Treville maybe arranged for it,” Porthos said, this having occurred to him as the most likely answer on the journey back.

“It must have been hard,” Athos said sympathetically. “Seeing it finally.”

“It’s not that. It’s just – you know if I’d thought about it, I suppose I should have been prepared, but I never did.”

“What?”

“He made out I’d died too right? Treville, I mean? To protect me from my father?” 

It took a moment, but Athos suddenly caught on with a look of shock. “Oh – God. Porthos. Your name was on there too?”

Porthos nodded, and Athos hugged him close. “Shit.”

Porthos clung to him, grateful for his strong arms and immediate understanding.

Athos thought he’d never seen Porthos so shaken in all the time he’d known him, but he recognised the feeling of dislocation, and held him tight. 

“Sorry. I’m being daft.” Eventually Porthos tried to pull back, but Athos hung on to him, stroking his hair.

“No you’re not.”

Porthos gave him a shaky smile. “It’s a really weird feeling, seeing your own name on a gravestone. Like I’m dead somehow.”

“I know how you feel,” Athos said. “Kind’ve. When that tree came down on the house, and that guy said if we’d stayed in bed a minute longer we’d have been killed – afterwards, I felt like – I don’t know, like I was dead but just didn’t know it yet. It was horrible, and it took a long while to shake it off.”

Porthos drew Athos towards him and kissed him softly. “Make me feel alive?” he whispered. 

Athos pushed him down on the covers, hands on his shoulders, kissing him back deeply. Porthos pulled Athos on top of him, making it clear what he wanted and Athos took the unspoken cue, taking charge of him with a gentle assurance. 

Clothes discarded, Porthos lay spread beneath him, finally feeling warm and whole and grounded as Athos made love to him.

Porthos closed his eyes, feeling Athos fill him, taking him apart inch by inch. With others he’d rarely been able to entirely relax like this, but with Athos he could open himself utterly and did so with a sigh of something close to relief. 

Athos moved slowly inside him, rhythmically building him to a shuddering climax. Afterwards they lay close through the come-down, still quietly kissing.

“We should go away. When this is all over,” Porthos said. “Just the two of us. We’ve never been away together.”

“Almost like a honeymoon, you mean?” Athos teased.

Porthos laughed. “Well. Yeah. Now you come to mention it. We haven’t really talked about that have we?”

“I wasn’t sure how long you’d be able to get off work,” Athos admitted. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured.” Knowing Porthos had always been deeply paranoid about how his work had affected his previous relationships.

“Should be fine, as long as there’s no crisis.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Athos smiled, laying his fingers against Porthos’ lips. 

“I spoke to Aramis,” he added after a pause. “He can’t marry us.”

“No?” Porthos looked disappointed. “I knew we couldn’t have it in the church, but..?”

Athos shook his head. “He was hoping the Church was going to issue a directive before April, changing their stance. Modern church, and all that. Unfortunately it went the other way. They’ve been told in no uncertain terms they can’t carry out gay wedding ceremonies or even blessings.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yes. Unfortunately it’s also non-negotiable. He was quite embarrassed when he told me, poor bastard.”

“So it’s just a registrar then?”

“Yes. Anne’s got one who usually oversees ceremonies at the Manor, if you fancy that?”

“As long as the end result is us being married, I’ll go along with anything.” Porthos lifted Athos’ hand and kissed it. “I love you.”

Athos leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “And I love you. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – be doing any of this if it wasn’t for you. You saved me.”

“You’d have saved yourself, in the end,” Porthos said confidently. “You’re a tough cookie on the quiet. Just need to believe in yourself a bit more.”

Athos smiled. “We have several things in common then.” 

With Porthos feeling rather better and both of them having worked up an appetite, they ordered supper from room service, and conversation turned back to the trial.

“How’s it going?” Porthos asked. “Did I miss any exciting developments?”

“Not really. Cara fast-tracked a fingerprint test on that pill bottle, but other than mine it was clean, so that’s a dead end.” Athos sighed. “On paper I thought the case was pretty water-tight, but when it comes down to it too much hinges on Bonnaire’s testimony. If the jury don’t believe him, we’re stuffed.”

“Do you believe him?” Porthos asked. “I mean – you do think it’s true, what he’s saying?”

Athos gave him an uncomfortable look. “I’ve tried to avoid asking myself that,” he admitted. “But on balance, yes, I think so. There’s no advantage to him doing it otherwise, and it’s putting him in danger, so – yes. But it may not be enough for a conviction. Flat denials are hard to combat without corroboration, and all the evidence is circumstantial. Three of them are maintaining they’ve never met him before and Skerrit’s still refusing to speak at all.”

Porthos thought about it for a while. “Do you think Marcheaux’s brothel was one of the ones involved in this?”

“Almost certainly.”

“So if we could prove beyond any doubt a connection with one of them?”

“Is that likely? You said it was deserted. They’ll be more careful than ever now, surely?”

Porthos shook his head slowly. “You know what, it’s when people break routine that they make mistakes. They act in haste without thinking it through. There’s got to be a certain amount of panic going on, however unconcerned they’re pretending to look. One of them will have slipped up somehow.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Possibly. Thanks to Marcheaux it’s an ongoing investigation we’re already looking into. We’d have grounds to enquire into the suspects if – well, if we could find grounds to enquire, if you see what I mean.”

“Trouble is we don’t want to risk jeopardising the current trial. If you were found to be harassing the defendants, and linked to me...” Athos groaned “It’s a minefield.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Porthos mused. “I’ll go back home tomorrow, I’m no use to you here.”

“Oh I wouldn’t say that.” Athos drew Porthos closer for a kiss. “I wouldn’t say that at all...”

–

When Porthos arrived into the office the following day he found his team gathered round Elodie’s computer looking at the news footage of the trial. The arrest of a man who was essentially their boss, albeit several levels removed, was causing a substantial amount of fascination.

“How’s it going?” D’Artagnan asked Porthos, hopeful for some insider gossip. 

“Iffy, if I’m honest,” Porthos admitted. “Prosecution’s not sure the testimony of one scumbag’s going to be enough to put them away.”

“You mean your boyfriend’s not infallible?” Marcheaux enquired. 

Porthos ignored him, peering over their shoulders at the screen. It showed a set of head shots of the defendants next to a news article. 

“They must have more evidence than just Bonnaire’s word though surely?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Well he’s certainly dirty,” said Marcheaux, pointing at the screen.

“Hang on, who?” Porthos asked.

“Him. Bottom left.” Marcheaux squinted at the caption. “Skerrit.”

“He’s not said a word all trial,” Porthos said. “They’re thinking he’ll probably walk even if the others don’t. He hasn’t got a record, why do you think he’s dirty?”

“Seen him, didn’t I? When I was staking out the brothel.”

“Punter?” suggested d’Artagnan.

“Nah. Wasn’t in there long enough. Came out with a bag, so I figured he was collecting the cash. I followed him.”

They all stared at him and he shifted uncomfortably. “What?”

“Why didn’t you mention any of this?” Porthos demanded.

Marcheaux shrugged. “Didn’t come to anything.”

“When was this?” Elodie asked, having been fairly sure she’d been with him the whole time and starting to wonder if he was inventing things. 

“That night I dropped you off to see your mysterious lover-boy in Brighton. Same night I saw Bonnaire.”

Elodie glared at him as the others immediately looked enquiringly at her and he grinned. “I figured I’d give the brothel one last pass. Saw this shifty little bloke come out with what looked like a bag of cash so I followed him. He drove as far as this level crossing in the middle of nowhere, went in a house and then back into town. Lost him at a set of lights.”

“Was he meeting someone?” Porthos asked urgently. 

“Don’t think so. Place looked deserted. He wasn’t there long, anyway.” 

Porthos stared at him. “Could you find this place again?”

–

They pulled up outside what had presumably once been the cottage of the level crossing keeper in the days before automation. It was rather tumbledown and appeared long deserted, but it backed onto a siding surrounded by rusting corrugated iron panels that blocked the view from the road.

D’Artagnan and Elodie went to check out the house while Porthos and Marcheaux examined the gates to the rail yard.

“Good thing the catch is broken,” Porthos said neutrally.

Marcheaux looked at the shiny new bolt and padlock and frowned. “It’s not?”

In response Porthos drew back his foot and delivered a powerful kick to the side of the gate. The entire catch, padlock and all broke away and the gate swung open.

Marcheaux raised his eyebrows. “My mistake,” he muttered. 

Porthos gave him a stony look. “Problem?” 

To his surprise, Marcheaux grinned. “No. But if I’d suggested it, you’d’ve said no.”

“Probably.”

“Fair enough.” 

As they moved onto the property Porthos had a nasty prickling feeling that he might just have handed Marcheaux something to use against him later. 

Inside was a railway siding that branched off from the main line. It was surrounded by piles of scrap, rusting junk and old railway equipment – there was even an old passenger carriage mouldering in the long grass. A set of flat bed freight cars, one with its shipping container still in situ sat on the enclosed length of track.

D’Artagnan and Elodie appeared, shaking their heads to indicate no luck with the cottage.

“It’s locked up tight, but looking through the window at the amount of undisturbed dust on the floor, I don’t think anyone’s been inside in years,” Elodie reported. “And there’s ivy growing up round the door.”

D’Artagnan walked over to examine the track. “This has been in use recently though,” he said. “The rails aren’t rusty and the weeds aren’t so overgrown. These trucks haven’t been here long.”

“When you followed Skerrit,” Porthos said to Marcheaux, “Did he go into the house, or come in here?” 

“Couldn’t say,” Marcheaux admitted, scrunching his nose in annoyance. “I didn’t want him to spot me so I hung back. I’d assumed it was the house, but thinking back no lights went on. Could have come in here.”

“He came here for a reason,” Porthos said. “Money drop off? Did he have the bag with him?”

“Couldn’t see. Told you, I was hanging back. He was only gone a couple of minutes, could’ve been a drop off.”

“Check out that carriage,” Porthos ordered. “There are only so many places here you’d hide something. And get onto Network Rail when we get back, I want to know what this place is officially used for, and who owns it, if it’s private land.” There hadn’t been the usual notices he’d have expected to see if it had belonged to the railway, which suggested it was commercial, and there was a large metal gate across the track further down, preventing access to the main line. 

“Can you hear something?” Elodie asked, head on one side as they walked towards the old passenger car. 

“What?” Porthos asked, as everyone stopped and looked at her.

“Listen.”

They did, frowning concentration turning to surprise as a faint metallic thud became a sudden frantic pounding. They looked round, trying to locate the source and realised in shock that it was coming from the shipping container.

“There’s somebody in there!” d’Artagnan exclaimed.

“Several someones, judging by that racket,” Porthos said grimly. He strode across the yard, trailing the others in his wake and banged on the side. “Hey! Police! Who’s in there?”

A confused babble of unmistakeably female voices started up and they all exchanged startled looks. 

“Get this bloody thing open,” Porthos ordered, but it was firmly locked with no sign of a key.

D’Artagnan and Marcheaux went to see if the car had anything in it they could break in with, Elodie started making calls for back-up, ambulance assistance and possibly someone with an acetylene torch, and Porthos knocked again.

“Hello? Can you hear me? It’s all right, we’re going to get you out of there. Is anyone hurt?”

At first the response was unintelligible as everyone inside tried to make themselves heard at once, but then some semblance of order seemed to be imposed and one voice allowed to speak for the rest. 

“Please – you can let us out?”

“We’ll get you out as soon as we can, yes, we don’t have a key so we may have to break it open, but it won’t be long, I promise.” Porthos looked round in the vain hope that someone might be approaching with a crowbar or something, but he appeared to be on his own. He rolled his eyes and addressed himself again to the woman within.

“My name’s Porthos, okay? Detective Inspector Porthos Du Vallon, and you’re safe now, and we’re going to get you out. Who am I talking to please?”

“Maria.”

“Maria, okay, hello Maria. Is anyone hurt? Does anyone need a doctor?”

This prompted a certain amount of muffled discussion, and Porthos realised the reason he hadn’t been able to catch half of what they were saying before was because it hadn’t been in English.

“No, we are mostly okay,” came the response, much to his relief. “But we are very cold, and hungry, and we want to come out now please.”

“Yeah, we’re working on it,” Porthos promised. “Not long now. How long have you been in there?” Figuring that keeping up a dialogue while they waited would be reassuring. He assumed they were the girls missing from the brothel, because if there was some other reason a group of eastern European-sounding women would be locked in a sea container he couldn’t think of one, but surely they couldn’t have been kept here since the raid? That had been over a fortnight ago.

“Some days? We are not sure how long,” came the answer. “They gave us food, but it has gone.”

“Okay. We’ll get you fed, don’t worry,” Porthos said comfortingly. “Shower and a takeaway, how does that sound?”

“You are very kind,” said Maria, sounding both amused and on the brink of tears. 

Elodie appeared to have finished on the phone and he beckoned her over, thinking that a female voice out here as well might reassure those within.

At this point d’Artagnan and Marcheaux reappeared carrying between them what looked like a section of steel joist that Porthos was certain hadn’t been in the boot of the car.

“You two been looting building sites?” he asked, and they staggered up with it.

“All we could find sir,” d’Artagnan panted. “Figured we might be able to lever the door open.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that. Have a go anyway, while we wait for the professionals.”

Porthos stepped back to let them try, pretending he hadn’t heard what either of them had just called him. 

By the time the support vehicles arrived, somewhat to Porthos’ surprise they had just managed to force the door open, and staggered back rubbing bruised hands as one after another a total of fourteen girls were helped down by the newly arrived uniforms, stepping out of the container, blinking into the light.

“Christ, they were in the dark in there,” murmured Elodie, with an expression of dawning horror. 

Beside her, Marcheaux made a startled noise and jerked forward only to briefly check himself, then figured to hell with it and strode towards the group of bewildered young women.

“Lacey? Lacey!”

One of them looked up in slight alarm, studied the man bearing down on her and flinched away, melting into the milling crowd that was being directed towards the waiting ambulances.

Marcheaux was left standing alone, feeling rather foolish. What had he expected, he wondered? She’d been through hell and worse, and he’d been part of it. Had he really entertained for a second the idea she might have been pleased to see him, to be rescued by him? Yes, he had, and with hindsight it had been fucking stupid.

He became aware of a presence at his elbow, and knew without looking that it was Elodie. 

“Go on. Say it,” he sighed. 

“Say what?”

“I told you so.”

“Nah.” Elodie shook her head. “If it wasn’t for you, we’d never have found them. You did good today sarge. We all did. We saved lives. Including hers. That’s a pretty solid day’s work. And let’s face it, this is typical of being a police officer right?”

Marcheaux looked confused, and she grinned up at him. “No bugger’s ever bloody grateful, are they?”

He broke into a reluctant smile, and they stood there a while longer, watching the ambulances and police vans starting to move out.

“Don’t suppose you fancy a shag?” He threw out the comment casually, and it took Elodie a second to process what he’d said. And then another second while she fleetingly considered it, before common sense took hold.

“Nah.”

Marcheaux shrugged philosophically. “Fair enough.”

She nudged him. “Buy you a pint though?”

–

The upshot of the rescue was that the women were able to identify both Skerrit and Franks from a selection of photographs and after having been shut up in an unlit and unheated shipping container for over forty eight hours with insufficient food and only a couple of buckets between them for sanitation, proved entirely willing to testify to the fact. 

Faced with the evidence Skerrit had stuck resolutely to his campaign of silence, but when ownership of the freight yard was traced to Franks through a subsidiary company he abruptly changed his tune and enquired about the possibility of a plea bargain. This was seized with heavily disguised relief by the prosecuting team and his subsequent guilty plea and sworn evidence was enough to convict the others. 

–

“Athos.”

Walking out of court at the end of the proceedings feeling more exhausted than exultant, Athos turned to see the opposing counsel bearing down on him. 

“Jocelyn. No hard feelings?” Athos held out his hand, and after the briefest hesitation Jocelyn shook it with a shrug.

“You win some you lose some. I probably owed you one anyway. I made partner a good couple of years earlier than I expected when you went loopy.”

“You’re welcome,” said Athos dryly.

“Hope you don’t want your old job back after all this. Mainly because I’ve inherited your office.”

“You’re welcome to it.”

“Time out doesn’t seem to have done you much harm.”

“New perspective on things, perhaps,” Athos said. They were about to part ways when a thought occurred to him. “Jocelyn. Did any of your clients ever give the impression they knew Theo would be taken off the case for the prosecution? Before it happened, I mean?”

Jocelyn’s expression went carefully blank. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, I’m asking a straight question. Off the record. Call it a favour, in return for getting my office. And I never heard it from you.” It had been a long shot, but Jocelyn’s lack of reaction in itself told Athos something had hit home.

“There was, perhaps, a suggestion,” Jocelyn ventured. “Nothing definite, you understand. But an intimation, that Deveraux might not pose a long term problem.”

“Give me a name,” Athos urged. “Mathers?”

“No. The banker.”

“Skerrit?” Athos was surprised. The man had said so little during the trial it had proved hard to build a picture of him.

“I thought nothing of it at the time,” Jocelyn admitted. “But then, when Deveraux was arrested, I confess to wondering.” 

And would have done no more than that, Athos knew. He would have very carefully avoided knowing about any suspicion of wrongdoing on the part of his clients.

Jocelyn half-laughed. “Funny how things turn out. I had enough dirt on Deveraux to bury him in open court. You on the other hand...oh well. Goodbye Athos.” He walked off, leaving Athos wondering in surprise what dirt he had on Theo. This time better not to ask, perhaps. 

–

Athos collected his things from the hotel and drove home, looking forward to spending the night in his own bed again, if not technically in his own house. 

It was late when he got back, but Porthos was waiting for him at the door having heard the car, and Athos embraced him warmly. 

“You did it,” he smiled. “The extra statements swung it, guilty verdicts for all of them.”

Porthos laughed, hugging him back. “You did it, from what I hear. Convincing Franks he was in so much shit it was in his interests to turn evidence.” 

“Well, let’s say we make a good team.”

Porthos grinned. “I hate to say it, but we owe a lot to Marcheaux on this one. If he hadn’t recognised Skerrit as the bloke he followed, we’d still be none the wiser. Although the fact he never bothered to write it up at the time I’m still holding against him.”

“Marcheaux and Bonnaire.” Athos made a face. “What a combination.”

“At least one of them we never have to see again.” Porthos looked suspicious. “That’s true, right?”

“Yes. Bonnaire has been clasped to the bosom of the witness protection service and will now exit stage left.” Athos let out a tired sigh. “A big part of me wishes I’d never got involved in any of this.”

“In the end, it saved lives,” Porthos pointed out. “That has to be worth it, right?”

Athos raised a pensive smile. “Do you know, that’s what I told myself you’d say. I had to believe that you’d take that view, rather than just cut me off for representing Bonnaire again, but I was so afraid - ”

He broke off, and Porthos pulled him close. “Hey. It’s alright. It’s over. Done with.” 

After a while Athos pulled away and made a beeline for the whisky bottle.

“I need a drink.” 

"Of course you do,” sighed Porthos.

Athos stopped with the glass in his hand and gave Porthos a bemused look. "Sorry, would you like one?"

"No."

Athos frowned, trying to interpret Porthos' tone. "Do you - not want me to have one?"

Porthos shook his head. "No. Do what you want."

"I will." Athos stared at him, waiting for him to expand, but Porthos just shook his head again.

"I'm going to bed." He walked out, leaving Athos staring at the door in confusion.

"Or, you, know, you could could tell me what the matter is," he muttered to himself. "But that presumably would be far too logical." Athos sighed, and carrying his drink he followed Porthos upstairs, where he found him sitting on the bed.

"What's up?" He asked, sitting down next to him.

"Nothing."

"No. Something. There's clearly something rattling your cage, what is it?"

Porthos looked at him, heavy-eyed and cautious. "Can I say it without you snapping at me?"

Athos frowned. "I don't know. It'll be interesting to find out, won't it?"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "It's just - you've started drinking more than you used to."

"It's been a tough few weeks."

"You took an entire bottle of whisky to London in your luggage."

"Have you seen what they charge for the mini bar?"

"And you didn't bring any of it home again."

"You drank some of it." 

Porthos just looked at him, and Athos gestured helplessly. "What? What are you saying here exactly? That you think I'm drinking too much? What, am I an alcoholic now?"

"I didn't say that. Only you know how much is too much. All I'm saying is that you're drinking more than you used to. It's an observation, that's all."

"It helps me sleep."

"Do you need it to sleep?"

"Yeah, well I used to have something else to help with that, but I'm not allowed those any more. Do you want me to stop drinking as well now?" 

"I didn't say that either," Porthos said, clinging onto his rapidly thinning patience in the knowledge that if he matched Athos' tone the whole conversation would descend into a pointless argument.

Athos gestured with his glass. "You want me to pour this back?"

"No," Porthos sighed. 

"Good." Athos drank the lot down in one go. There was a short silence, then Athos sagged tiredly. "Sorry. That was childish."

"Just a bit." 

They exchanged tentative smiles. 

"I don't drink nearly as much as I used to," Athos offered. "Should've seen me before, when I worked in London. Drank like a fish. Caffeine pills to work through the night, then alcohol to celebrate or drown my sorrows depending on how a case turned out. We all did it."

"Sounds healthy."

"Yeah." Athos sighed. "You don't notice when you're doing it. When you're all doing it. It's just - normal."

"I just don't want you to exchange one ad- one thing for another."

Athos gave him a wry smile. "You really don't like the word addiction, do you?"

"I don't want to sound like I'm judging you."

"You want me to cut back?"

"It's no good if it comes from me. You'd just resent it. Only you know how much is too much, I just know sometimes you don't notice stuff when it's happening. I care about you, that's all. I need you," Porthos added softly. "I don't think you know how much you hold me together. I've never in my life been with someone before where I felt they cared about me so utterly unconditionally as you do."

"I need you too," Athos whispered, drawing Porthos closer and resting their heads together before wrapping his arms around him. "You keep me on the straight and narrow."

Porthos smiled, and kissed him. "Not too straight though, eh?"

–

Tentative peace restored, nevertheless the atmosphere the next morning was still a little strained. They skirted each other with a stilted politeness, wary of triggering the argument they both felt was still lurking just under the surface. 

Athos had tried working out just how much he had been drinking lately and come to the annoying conclusion that Porthos might have a point, which pissed him off. Porthos, for his part, felt he’d only been acting in Athos’ best interests, and it was frankly typical of the man not to appreciate it. 

Feeling the need for some air, Porthos shouted from the hallway that he was walking down to the shop and did Athos want anything?

Athos shouted back from the kitchen how about a bottle of wine? And heard the front door slam with rather more force than was warranted. 

Trying not to laugh, he opened his laptop to email Cara and ask if Skerrit had let anything slip since his conviction, wondering if the man might have finally started talking. Having duly sent this off and wondering if it was worth arranging to try and speak with the man, he was about to get up and do something else when an email pinged in from Theo. 

_Athos. I have new information about what happened to Javier. I daren’t put it in an email, could you come up and see me? As soon as possible? Don’t tell anyone, it’s important nobody else knows this yet._

Athos stared at the email in surprise, then immediately tried to call him, but there was no reply. 

_Alright,_ he wrote back. _I’ll come right away. Should be there about one._

Sending the email and closing his laptop he heard Porthos come in the front door and went to intercept him. Tell no one, Theo had said, but Athos had learnt his lesson in that regard at least. 

“I have to go up to London. Theo wants to see me,” he said.

“What – now?” 

“Yes, that was the impression I got. He says he has new information about what happened to Javier.”

Porthos just managed not to roll his eyes. “Shouldn’t he be telling the police then? No, no, fine, of course you have to go – just don’t get pulled into any more mad ventures, okay?”

“I’ll be good,” Athos promised, and kissed him.

It was only when he pulled over for petrol halfway to London that he realised he’d been in such a rush to leave he’d left his phone on the table by the laptop.

It was there that it started ringing a couple of hours after Athos had gone. Porthos tracked down the noise and frowned at the caller display. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up.

“Athos’ phone.” 

“Oh – er, I – sorry, is Athos there please?” The voice was polite and cultured and Porthos tried very hard not to dislike it on general principles.

“No, sorry, he’s managed to leave his phone behind, but he should be nearly with you by now.” 

There was a startled pause. “Sorry – with me?”

“That is Mr Deveraux?”

“Yes. I saw I had a missed call from him, I was just calling back. Sorry, who am I speaking to, is that Por- Inspector Du Vallon?” He corrected himself mid-sentence, conscious of Porthos’ formal and rather chilly use of ‘Mr Deveraux’, but Porthos had actually thawed slightly at the thought Athos had apparently mentioned him enough for Theo to be on familiar terms with his first name. 

“Yes. Er – I’m confused, he said you asked him to come up and see you?”

“There must be some mistake. I haven’t spoken to Athos in a couple of days. I’m not there anyway, I’m staying with my sister.” 

“He had an email from you. Asking him to come,” Porthos said, opening Athos’ laptop with his free hand and trying to log on to check, but he’d apparently changed his password.

“I can assure you I sent no such thing,” Theo said firmly, then seemed to catch some of Porthos’ urgency. “Wait a second, are you saying he thinks he’s coming to see me? Do you think someone else might have sent it?”

“Where are you?” Porthos asked quickly. “Can you get round there?”

“No, sorry, I’m in Hertfordshire.”

“Shit. I’m down in Sussex.” 

“Should we call the police do you think?”

“I am the fucking police. Give me the address. Where’s Athos been meeting you?”

“Hyde Park Mews.” Theo gave him the details and was left blinking at the phone as Porthos hung up on him.

Porthos dug out his own phone and was about to call the only person he could think of who could help without wasting time asking questions when Athos’ phone rang again. Assuming it was Theo ringing back he reached impatiently to silence it, then hesitated. The caller ID read Cara Sinclair.

–

Athos arrived at the mews house and was surprised to find the front door slightly ajar. He knocked, and the door swung open under his hand. After a second he stepped cautiously inside. He knew he was expected, but was surprised to find it open like this.

"Theo?" he called. "It's me." 

There was no answer, and Athos walked right in, frowning. "Hello?" 

A movement in the corner of his vision made him start to turn but it was too late, as someone who’d been hiding behind the door threw a rope around his neck and pulled him backwards off balance.

He scrabbled futilely at the cord biting into his skin, too tight and too thin for him to get his fingers beneath it. His unseen assailant was twisting it viciously around his throat and Athos couldn’t breathe. 

Realising he couldn’t loosen the garotte Athos changed focus to his attacker, slamming himself backwards with the last of his strength, spots exploding across his vision. He crushed his assailant between his body and the edge of the kitchen worktop and for a split second the pressure lessened. 

Athos scrabbled frantically at the kitchen surface behind him, hoping to feel a knife or something he could use as a weapon. His fingers closed around the neck of a wine bottle and he slammed again into the person behind him, this time hard enough to break free and twist. He swung the bottle blindly, feeling it connect.

It was vintage champagne in solid, heavy glass, and it didn’t break. His assailant went down with a thud and didn’t get up again.

Athos dropped choking to his knees, clawing the cord away from his throat until he could breathe again.

“Athos?” The front door banged wide and d’Artagnan of all people barrelled through it, skidding to a stop at the sight that met his eyes, of a man laid out on the floor and Athos on his knees.

D’Artagnan rushed to Athos’ side. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Athos accepted a hand up, coughing painfully and rubbing his throat. “Thanks.” He looked at the body on the floor and was less surprised than he felt he should have been to recognise Skerrit. He was lying very still and Athos suffered abrupt misgivings. “Is he…?” The realisation he might have killed him rose like a spectre. It had been purely self-defence, but there had been no witnesses.

D’Artagnan was kneeing beside him, feeling for a pulse. “He’s alive,” he reported, and Athos sagged into a chair in weak relief. 

“What happened to him?” 

Athos managed a tired smile. “He hit the bottle.” 

D’Artagnan snorted, checking Skerrit over and deciding that on balance he’d probably live.

“Don’t think me ungrateful, but what the hell are you doing here?” Athos asked.

“Porthos called me. Told me to get over here as fast as I could.” D’Artagnan grinned. “He knew I was up here for the firearms course and for some reason assumed you were heading into trouble, can’t imagine why.”

“He assumed right.” 

“He also said Sinclair called to say Skerrit had done a bunk from custody.” D’Artagnan reported, looking at the body on the floor with interest. “I assume this is him?” D’Artagnan paused as sirens screamed down the street outside.

“You call for back-up?” Athos asked, but he shook his head. 

“Might have been Porthos?” 

As things turned out it had been Theo. Skerrit was taken off in an ambulance handcuffed to an officer and Athos was taken off protesting in a second one to be checked over.

He was still sitting glumly in a hospital cubicle some time later when the curtain was pushed aside and Porthos walked in.

“You’ll get done for speeding you know,” Athos said reprovingly. “No way you got here that quickly without breaking at least a few laws.”

“Shut up.” Porthos’ voice was threatening to shake. “Just – shut up.” He pulled Athos into his arms and held him tightly. 

Athos hugged back, stroking his back comfortingly. “I’m okay,” he promised. 

“Skerrit tried to kill you.” 

“Tried being the operative word. I’m still here.” Athos kissed him. “I might have a sore throat for a few days, and one hell of a bruise, but they say there’s no lasting damage.” 

“Jesus Athos. I’m supposed to be the one with the dangerous job here. Could you maybe stick to the desk job from now on?”

“I promise.” Athos kissed him firmly. “Am I allowed to go home now?”

“I’ll find out.” Porthos looked reluctant to leave him, and Athos squeezed his hand. 

“I’m okay. It’s all okay. It’s over. Skerrit’s back in custody.” He ran a hand around the abrasions on his throat feelingly. “God, I suppose he wanted it to look like Theo had done for me as well.” He gave Porthos a stricken look of alarm, and Porthos snorted.

“For the record, I wouldn’t have believed it for a second.” 

Athos smiled. “Take me home?”

“Is your car here?”

“Balls, yes, it’s outside Theo’s. Oh well, it’ll be alright there for a bit. I don’t think I could face driving all the way back right now,” Athos admitted and Porthos looked indignant. 

“You’ll certainly do no such thing! Actually, give me your keys, I’ll get d’Artagnan to drive it back down tomorrow, he’s up here for another night and came up on the train.” 

“I’m not sure he’s insured.”

“Then I’ll tell him not to crash.”

Athos handed them over, smiling faintly. “And you both police officers,” he murmured.

–

A week later, Cara Sinclair came to visit Athos in Owlbrook to update him on subsequent developments.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Athos confirmed with a smile, hand unconsciously moving to the fading bruises around his throat. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Except we’re sending him on a cyber-security course,” Porthos grinned. “Teach him to double-check email addresses before haring off to get throttled.” 

“I thought you’d want to know, Skerrit has finally confessed to everything, including setting fire to the cottage.”

“It was actually him?”

“Yes.” Sinclair smiled. “An interesting little twist came out of him doing a bunk like that. As soon as about-to-be-ex-Superintendent Mathers found out, he started singing like a canary. He claims Skerrit was the actual driving force behind the operation, and that he was only going along with it because Skerrit was blackmailing him. Had evidence of him using the brothels. Used it against him for insider information on any potential action being taken against them.”

“He was that scared of him?”

“They all were. Apparently he was a bit of a psycho on the quiet. Once we got him back, Skerrit himself finally gave in and started talking, mainly to try and dig himself out of the heaps of shit the other three had been piling on in his absence.”

“How did he find us though?” Athos asked. “At the cottage I mean. That’s always puzzled me.”

“Through a genuine coincidence, weirdly enough. Apparently he realised he was being followed from one of the brothels that night and managed to double back and follow his tail instead.”

“Marcheaux,” Athos realised with a groan. “He lead him straight here.”

Sinclair nodded. “Apparently Skerrit got confused in the dark, meant to keep following the first guy when he left but ended up following you instead when you came out at the same time. And you lead him right to Emile. He didn’t have time to think of anything more sophisticated, and figured he could get both of you at once, except chucking a bottle through a window’s harder than it looks on telly, and you both had time to escape before the fire took hold.” She smiled. “And one other piece of news you might be interested in. He’s also confessed to the murder of Javier Santos.”

Athos stared at her. “Oh, thank God. He confirmed he did it to implicate Theo?”

“Actually no. He broke in in the dark, overheard Javier on the phone and assumed it was Deveraux, having made the assumption that a man called Javier Santos would sound Spanish, which he didn’t, having grown up in England with an English mother.” 

“Oh Christ.”

“For a man running an operation of this complexity, he seems to have had a terrible eye for detail,” Sinclair said cheerfully. 

“And Bonnaire?”

“Emile Bonnaire no longer exists,” she said carefully. “The Witness Protection lot have done their work and he’s gone.”

“And you?” Athos asked curiously. “Do you know where?”

“No. He’ll let me know, when the time’s right. And I’ll put in for a transfer, or whatever I need to do, to join him.” Sinclair got to her feet and shook hands with both of them. “Thank you Athos. I know you had reservations about this case, but you’ve done a hell of a good job.”

They watched her walk to her car, and Porthos shook his head. 

“Do you think he’ll be in touch?”

Athos sighed. “For her sake, I’m not sure if I hope he does or not.”

“Not a romantic bone in your body, is there?” Porthos grinned. 

Athos looked sideways at him. “If your next line is going to be - ‘would you like one’ - ?” He smiled, and reached for Porthos’ hand. “Then the answer is yes.”

–


End file.
